MARGARET 

HORTON 

POTTER 


'>- 


fe.  A.  FOY,  Phone 


"THE   PAPER    DROPPED   TO   THE  FLOOR1 


I  The  House  ofde  Mailly  f 

aQo  J  *S          9¥? 


Homance 


Margaret  Horton  Potter 

Illustrated  by  A.  L  Keller 


New   York  and  London 

. 

Harper  &  Brothers  Publishers 


Copyright,  iqoi,  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS. 
All  right!  rcterved. 


TO 
MY    DEAREST    FRIENDS 

AND 

KINDLIEST  CRITICS 
MARIE  AND  FREDERIC  GOOKIN 

THIS  VOLUME  IS 
AFFECTIONATELY  INSCRIBED 


CONTENTS 

JBooft  f 
CLAUDE 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  M.  DE  GEVRES  ENTERTAINS 3 

II.  THE  TOILET ; 27 

III.  THE  GALLERY  OF  MIRRORS 42 

IV.  MARLY 58 

V.  THE  CHAPEL 75 

VI.  CLAUDE'S  FAREWELL 90 

JBoofe  f  I 
DEBORAH 

I.  A  SHIP  COMES  IN 103 

n.  DR.  CARROLL'S  IDEA 120 

III.  THE  PLANTATION 136 

IV.  ANNAPOLIS 148 

V.  SAMBO ,    .  165 

VI.  CLAUDE'S  MEMORIES 182 

VII.  THE  PEARLS 195 

VIII.  THE  GOVERNOR'S  BALL .  207 

IX.  THE  RECTOR,  THE  COUNT,  AND  SIR  CHARLES     .    .  221 

X.  PURITAN  AND  COURTIER 229 

XI.  DISTANT  VERSAILLES 244 

iii 


iv  Contents 


flff 
THE    POST 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  FROM  METZ      ...............  251 

II.  THE  DISGRACE     ..............  265 

III.  NOVEMBER  THIRTEENTH      ..........  282 

IV.  CLAUDE'S  OWN     ..............  296 

V.  Two  PRESENTATIONS  ............  313 

VI.  SNUFF-BOXES  ................  327 

VII.  CONCERNING  MONSIEUR  MAUREPAS     ......  341 

VIII.  DEEP  WATERS     ...........    .    .    .  355 

IX.  THE  DUKE  SWIMS    .............  371 

X.    "VOL-AU-VENT  ROYALE"       ..........  382 

XI.  "THY  GLORY"     ..............  400 

XII.  ONE  MORE  DE  MAILLY?    ...........  414 

XIII.  THE  HOTEL  DE  VILLE  ..........    ,    .  430 

XIV.  VICTORINE  MAKES  END    ...........  443 

XV.  DEBORAH  ......    .........  451 

EPILOGUE.    A  TRAIL  ON  THE  WATER         .  ,469 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

"THE  PAPER  DROPPED  TO  THE  FLOOR"      .    .    .  Frontispiece 

"  DE  MAILLY  HAD  THROWN  SIX  AND  SIX  "...  Facing  p.  22 
"  '  CLAUDE,  TAKE  THIS  AND  THROW  IT  OUT — 

THERE  '  " 38 

"  HB  SUDDENLY  STOPPED  AND  TURNED  HIS  HEAD 

TOWARDS  HER" 50 

"  '  I— GIVE  YOU  ONLY  THIS  "' "        98 

"THE  YOUNG  MAN  ROSE  AND  BOWED"    ....  "       106 

"CLAUDE  SAT  SUDDENLY  UP  IN  BED"      ....  "        132 

"SURROUNDED  BY  A  GROUP  OF  PICKANINNIES"  .  "  140 
"HORSE  AND  RIDER  HAD  FLASHED  OUT  AT  THE 

GATE" "  162 

"'GO  ON,  MONSIEUR,'  MURMURED  DEBORAH"  .  .  "  192 
"DEBORAH  PERMITTED  HIM  TO  LEAD  HER  FROM 

THE  BALLROOM" "  2l8 

"'I  AM  NOT  THE  DUCHESS  OF  CHATEAUROUX !'"  .  "  462 


JBOOft  1 

CLAUDE 


The  House  of  de  Mailly 


CHAPTER   I 

M.  de  Gevres  Entertains 

T  was  the  evening  of  Tuesday,  January  I2th, 
in  the  year  1744.  By  six  o'clock  the  gray  of 
afternoon  had  deepened  to  the  blackness  of 
night,  and  a  heavy  rain  began  to  fall,  so  that 
the  Sevres  road,  a  mile  beyond  the  Paris  bar- 
rier, was  shortly  thick  with  mud.  The  only  light  here 
visible  came  from  the  window  of  a  wretched  tavern  at  the 
way-side;  and  by  this  mine  host,  had  he  been  watching, 
would  have  had  some  difficulty  in  perceiving  the  two 
riders  who  came  to  an  uncertain  halt  by  his  door. 

"  It  is  late,  du  Plessis,  and  we  have  still  three  miles  to 
go.  More  than  that,  'tis  the  worst  cabaret  in  France." 

"And  you  would  be  no  more  of  a  Jean- Jacques  than 
necessary  to-night— eh,  Claude?"  returned  the  other  good- 
humoredly. 

"I  should  prefer  drowning  or  to  perish  of  a  rheum  by 
the  way  than  be  poisoned  by  the  liquor  to  be  had  here," 
returned  the  other,  flicking  his  saddle  restlessly  with 
his  riding-whip. 

"So  be  it,  then.  Come,  we  waste  time.  Mordil  A 
little  gently  there,  1  beseech!  It  is  raining  mud." 

A  dig  of  the  spur  in  the  thoroughbred's  flank,  a  spat- 
tering of  drops  from  the  puddle  in  which  they  had  stood, 
a  quick  apology,  and  the  landlord  had  lost  his  guests, 


4  The  House   of  de  Mailly 

illustrious  guests,  who  paid  never  a  sou  too  much  for  their 
wine,  but  could  make  a  drinking-place  the  fashion  for 
weeks  by  five  minutes'  presence  within  it. 

The  two  rode  for  some  minutes  in  silence,  though  no 
one  of  the  finest  apperception  could  have  felt  any  enmity 
existent  between  them.  The  night  lowered.  The  rain 
pelted  coldly  from  the  starless  sky;  and  horses  and  riders 
alike  shrank  from  the  raw,  streaming  atmosphere.  When 
the  silence  was  again  broken  the  lights  of  Paris  were 
visible  in  the  distance.  This  time  it  seemed  that  du 
Plessis  —  the  Due  de  Richelieu  —  addressed  his  compan- 
ion's secret  thoughts  as  though  he  had  been  reading 
them  for  some  time  past. 

"  Believe  me,  Claude,  you  are  unwise.  She  is  not  quite 
— quite  of  your  fibre.  The  elder  branch,  you  will  often 
find,  if  you  study  these  things,  is  less  quick  in  sensibility, 
though  perhaps  not  lacking  in  finesse.  The  King,  dear 
child,  the  King—" 

"  The  King  is  a  man.  I  also  am  one ;  he,  de  Bourbon  ; 
1,  de  Mailly." 

Richelieu  laughed  heartily.  "Pretty — pretty,  Claude  1 
I  must  enter  it  in  the  unauthenticated  register  at  Mme. 
Doublet's  to-morrow!  Why  do  you  not  lay  the  matter 
thus  before  Mme.  de  Chateauroux  herself?" 

"Ah,  monsieur,  1  think  you  understand  her  even  less 
than  I.  1  do  not  dare  address  her  as  my  position  admits. 
My  cousin  cannot  be  more  proud  of  our  family  than  am 
I;  and  yet — and  yet — " 

In  the  darkness  Louis  Armand  Francois  du  Plessis 
de  Fronsac  de  Richelieu,  from  strong  force  of  habit, 
snapped  his  fingers.  "Afraid  of  a  woman!  Truly,  we 
have  schooled  you  well,  Claude!" 

"  You,  Monsieur  le  Due,  you  yourself — have  you  kissed 
my  cousin  on  the  lips?" 

"Oh,  I  do  not  infringe  on  his  Majesty's  rights." 

"MonDieu!     If  it  were  any  but  you ! — " 

"Come,  my  dear  Count,  you  are  making  an  enormous 
mistake,  permit  me  to.  say.  The  one  thing  which  no  man 


M.   de    Gevres   Entertains  5 

should  ever  do  is  to  take  himself  in  great  seriousness. 
You  have  yet  many  a  lesson  to  learn  about  women.  Now 
hear  from  me  a  bit  of  gravity,  which  shall  prove  my  friend- 
ship for  all  of  you — madame,  yourself,  and  his  Majesty. 
When  it  happens  that  a  man  chooses  a  woman,  and  the 
woman  accepts  that  man,  whether  it  be  for  love,  or — 
something  else, —  it  is  the  place  of  the  world  merely  to 
look  on.  A  third  personality  will  not  enter  complaisantly 
into  the  te"te-a-tete.  The  King  heaps  upon  his  Duchess 
the  favors  which  only  a  royal  lover  can  confer.  And 
madame  certainly  does  not  seem  loath  to  accept  them. 
A  dozen  besides  yourself  are  sighing  after  her  to-day. 
Yet  remember  d'Agenois,  my  friend.  And — and  Mile. 
d'Angeville  is  charming  in  '  L/Ecole  des  Femmes/  ' 

De  Richelieu  smiled  slightly,  fumbled  for  his  snuff-box, 
which  was  unobtainable  at  the  moment,  and  never  knew 
that  Claude  had  angrily  squared  his  shoulders  and  was 
cruelly  hurting  his  horse  with  bit  and  spur.  The  men- 
tion of  d'Angeville  happily  turned  the  subject,  as  the 
Duke  had  intended  it  to  do,  and  by  the  time  the  barrier 
was  reached  the  vicissitudes  of  the  Count  de  Mailly  and 
the  position  of  Mme.  de  Chateauroux  were,  to  all  appear- 
ances, forgotten. 

Once  in  the  city,  with  rivers  of  rain  above  and  below, 
and  filth,  crime,  poverty,  and  utter  darkness  about  them, 
Claude  de  Mailly  and  his  illustrious  companion  made 
their  way  with  what  rapidity  they  could  down  the  Rue 
de  Sevres,  past  St.  Vincent  de  Paul  and  the  Lazariste, 
through  the  little  Rue  Mi-Care*me,  the  Place  du  Dragon, 
Rue  Dauphine,  and  so  out  upon  the  quays.  After  riding 
for  three  squares  along  the  river-bank,  with  the  waters 
of  the  Seine  foaming  below  them,  the  two  finally  passed 
the  Pont  St.  Louis,  and,  turning  down  a  short  side  street, 
drew  up  before  a  doorway  wherein  lanterns  were  lighted, 
and  before  which  two  link-boys-  and  twice  as  many  lackeys 
stood  waiting.  Above,  upon  a  long  iron  arm,  tossed  by 
the  ever-rising  wind,  swung  a  great  painted  sign,  a  har- 
lequin in  cap  and  bells,  throwing  his  parti-colored  cap 


6  The  House   of  de  Mailly 

above  his  head.     Below,   in  uncertain  letters,   were  the 
words  "Cafe"  Procope." 

As  the  two  gentlemen  dismounted,  Richelieu  called 
to  one  of  the  servants,  who  hastened  forward  to  take  his 
bridle.  A  second  assisted  Claude,  while  another,  evi- 
dently under  orders,  turned  and  called  back  to  some  one 
inside.  Instantly  both  doors  were  flung  wide  open,  while 
the  landlord  of  this  most  popular  resort  himself  braved 
the  weather  and  came  out,  candelabrum  in  hand,  to  greet 
his  guests. 

"Ah,  Cressin,"  deigned  the  Duke,  nodding,  as  he  en- 
tered the  house,  "  are  the  rest  not  yet  arrived?" 

"  Indeed,  my  lord,  they  have  waited  for  some  time  above 
— Monsieur  le  Due  de  Ge'vres,  Monsieur  le  Due  d'Epernon, 
the  Marquis  de  Mailly-Nesle,  and  the  Baron  d'Holbach." 

"Urn.     'Twas  the  hunt  kept  us.     Light  the  way  up." 

Claude  lagged  behind  to  throw  off  his  wet  riding-cloak, 
brush  what  water  he  could  from  his  hat,  and  shake  out 
his  hair  which  had  flattened  beneath  the  protecting  collar. 
Richelieu  was  kept  waiting  for  some  seconds,  and  the 
landlord  had  become  ill  at  ease  before  the  young  precieuse 
signified  his  willingness  to  proceed  to  the  room  above, 
where  his  host  waited. 

Not  a  bad-looking  fellow  was  Claude  de  Mailly,  albeit 
what  individuality  he  possessed  had  some  difficulty  in 
asserting  itself  through  the  immaculate  foppishness  of  his 
attire.  His  wig,  a  very  fine  one,  was  arranged  &  la  brig- 
adiere,  and  tied  with  the  regulation  black  ribbon.  His 
forehead  was  broad  and  smooth,  his  eyes  of  a  grayish 
green,  shaded  with  heavy  black  lashes  and  good  brows, 
which,  however,  were  artificially  pencilled.  His  nose 
was  one  bequeathed  of  ten  generations  of  noble  ancestry ; 
his  mouth  was  sensitive,  his  complexion  dark.  The  dress 
that  he  wore  was  not  expensive,  though  its  ruffles  were 
of  fine  Mechlin,  and  he  carried  both  patch  and  snuff  box 
of  ivory  and  gold.  Richelieu,  who  preceded  him  up  the 
narrow  stairs,  was  a  more  striking  figure — taller,  broader 
of  frame,  with  well-shaped  head,  great  brown  eyes  that 


M.   de    Gevres    Entertains  7 

had  carried  him  through  life,  a  hand  like  a  woman's, 
with  muscles  of  steel,  a  smile  that  had  won  him  a  king's 
heart,  and  a  charm,  a  power  of  presence  which  had  made 
time  stand  still  before  him,  so  that  his  eight-and-forty 
years  were  something  less  than  Claude  de  Mailly's  twenty- 
three. 

Before  the  two  noblemen  and  the  landlord  were  half- 
way up-stairs  there  reached  them  from  above  the  tones 
of  familiar  voices  engaged  in  that  species  of  conversa- 
tion, half  witty,  half  absurd,  which  typified  the  times. 

"  Parbleu,  Baron,  you  will  be  calling  Richelieu  out  to- 
morrow! Your  carp  will  be  ruined." 

"  In  such  case,  Marquis,  I  must  order  your  cousin  spitted. 
He  will  have  been  swimming  the  streets  long  enough,  by 
the  time  he  arrives,  to  have  acquired  an  excellent  flavor, 
of  a  kind." 

"  Oh,  'tis  more  likely  that  the  Count  de  Mailly's  flavor 
would  be  rather  cloying.  All  love  is  sweet;  but  his  is 
so  really  violent,  gentlemen,  that — " 

"For  a  month  after  you  would  sicken  with  the  mere 
thought  of  a  rissole,"  cried  the  Duke  from  the  threshold. 

"And  the  epitaph  which  you  would  place  over  my 
picked  bones,"  said  Claude,  from  behind  Richelieu's 
shoulder,  "would  be: 

Sa  chair,  meme,  etant  douce  comme  miel,  < 

Sa  nature  etait  aussi  belle. 
II  entra  dans  la  vie  reelle." 

"Bravo!  Claude.  We  will  forgive  the  lost  feet.  You 
have  purchased  pardon,"  cried  d'Holbach,  smiling.  He 
and  de  Mailly-Nesle,  Claude's  cousin  and  the  brother  of 
Mme.  de  Chateauroux,  went  forward  to  greet  the  late- 
comers. D'Holbach,  epicurean  philosopher,  and  host  of 
the  small  company,  gave  them  a  genial  welcome.  The 
Marquis  grasped  his  cousin's  hands,  and  bowed  famil- 
iarly to  the  Duke,  while  the  other  two  men  in  the  room, 
d'Epernon  and  de  Gevres,  boon  companions,  both  in- 
timates of  the  King,  the  one  an  amateur  physician,  the 


8  The  House   of  de  Mailly 

other  an  adept  at  embroidery,  remained  languidly  seated, 
deigning  a  nod  and  smile  to  the  last  arrivals. 

After  a  few  further  words  of  greeting  and  explanation, 
the  party  of  six  arranged  themselves  about  the  oval  table, 
on  which  were  already  placed  the  hors-d'oeuvres  and 
sweet  wines,  while  Cressin  hurried  away  towards  his 
kitchens  to  command  the  attendance  of  two  waiters  and 
the  first  course  of  the  supper.  Only  part  of  the  even- 
ing's entertainment  was  being  given  by  the  Baron  d 'Hoi- 
bach.  M.  de  Gevres  had  arranged  an  amusement  for  the 
night  which  promised  some  novelty  even  to  these  utterly 
blase  gentlemen.  He  proposed  conducting  his  friends 
across  the  river  to  his  hdtel,  which,  by  royal  permission, 
had,  very  conveniently  for  his  pocket,  been  turned  into 
a  public  gambling  -  house.  Its  redoubtable  owner,  when 
not  at  Versailles,  lived  in  exquisite  style  in  his  chateau 
at  St.  Ouen ;  and,  since  there  was  always  a  place  for  him 
in  the  Tuileries,  the  H6tel  Richelieu,  or,  more  covertly, 
the  Hotel  de  Sauvr6,  in  Paris,  he  had  not  yet  felt  any 
poignant  discomfort  through  the  loss  of  his  ancestral 
house.  On  the  contrary,  the  unique  pleasure  of  appear- 
ing in  its  familiar  rooms  furnished  with  the  rows  of  tables, 
frequented  by  bourgeois  and  dwellers  in  St.  Antoine,  with 
the  presence  of  an  occasional  petty  noble,  was  really  veiy 
refreshing  to  the  jaded  spirit  of  this  vaporish  child  of  high- 
est France. 

It  was  a  particularly  select  little  company  who  gathered 
about  the  table  in  the  private  salon  of  the  Cafe1  Procope 
on  this  stormy  night.  All  of  them  were  of  the  bluest  of 
blood ;  all  of  them  spent  the  greater  part  of  their  time  about 
the  person  of  the  King;  to  all,  the  doors  of  any  and  every 
house  or  salon  in  Paris  were  open  at  any  hour;  and  not 
one  of  them  but  had  had  hearts  flung  at  him  from  the 
night  of  his  first  appearance  in  the  Gallery  of  Mirrors  to 
the  present  moment,  when  interest  in  the  hors-d'oeuvres 
was  beginning  to  wane,  and  the  first  course  of  the  sup- 
per should  have  been  making  its  appearance.  D'Eper- 
non  had  commenced  to  bore  them  all  with  some  remarks 


M.   de    Gevres   Entertains  9 

upon  the  recent  blood-letting  of  his  Majesty  after  a  rout 
at  Choisy,  when  Claude  jumped  unceremoniously  from 
the  table,  crossed  the  room  to  a  mirror,  and  took  out  his 
patchbox. 

"Trust  you'll  have  no  women  to-night,  de  Ge'vres," 
he  remarked,  breaking  in  upon  d'Epernon.  "I  am  wet 
through.  My  wig  is  in  strings,  and  the  powder  has  melted 
away  like  —  like  snow  in  June.  While  my  boots" — 
taking  out  a  large  star  and  pasting  it  below  the  corner 
of  his  left  eye — "my  boots  will  not  be  fit  for  my  valet, 
when  we  return  to-night." 

"  Claude  is  standing  there,  my  lords,  aching  with  vanity 
to  have  me  relate  to  you  how  crazily  he  has  borne  himself 
to-day,  del !  Twould  be  driving  me  mad  with  anxiety 
to  learn  how  soon  I  should  be  registering  my  presence 
at  the  Bastille,  had  I  shown  myself  so  little  of  a  courtier, 
so  utterly  reckless  for  the  sake  of  madame's  admiration 
as  has  he." 

Before  any  one  had  time  to  voice  his  curiosity,  Claude 
turned  quickly  from  the  mirror.  "  The  Bastille,  Richelieu ! 
The  Bastille!  Surely—" 

"  Why  not,  my  child?  I  have  been  there  thrice  for  less ; 
and  the  last  time,  had  it  not  been  for  my  ever-honored 
Duchess  of  Modena — umph !  I  had  been  carried  out  shorter 
by  a  head  than  when  I  went  in  \" 

The  five  gentlemen  smiled  broadly  at  certain  memories 
still  occasionally  recalled  on  a  rainy  day  at  Versailles. 
But  Henri,  Claude's  cousin,  looked  anxious.  "What  is 
your  last  exploit,  Claude?  Marie  has  been  inciting  you 
to  rashness  again?" 

Claude  laughed.  "Madame  did  not  honor  me  by  a 
single  command.  I  rode  a  course,  I  shot  a  stag,  and  I 
won — this,  which  was  intended  for  a  king,  not  me." 

Forthwith  the  young  fellow  drew  from  beneath  his 
waistcoat  something  which  even  de  Ge'vres  leaned  for- 
ward to  see.  It  was  a  glove,  a  white  gauntlet,  weighted 
on  the  back  with  a  crest  heavily  embroidered  in  gold,  and 
set  here  and  there  with  tiny  sapphires  of  the  color  lately 


ID  The  House   of  de  Mailly 

known  as  oeil  du  Roi ;  while  upon  the  smooth  leather 
palm  was  painted  a  very  good  miniature  of  his  gracious 
Majesty,  Louis  XV. 

The  little  group  of  courtiers  glanced  from  the  trophy 
to  the  face  of  its  owner,  who  was  gazing  upon  them  with 
a  smile  not  wholly  unconscious,  but  wisely  tempered  with 
cynicism.  Presently  the  Baron  reached  forward  and 
took  the  costly  article  from  Claude.  Holding  :,  s^ith  a 
delicate  touch  in  the  light  of  a  waxen  candle,  he  smiled 
as  he  observed: 

"Madame  should  not  have  removed  this  ere  she  gave 
it  to  you,  my  dear  Count." 

"  I  would  to  God  she  had  not !"  cried  de  Mailly-Nesle. 

Four  pairs  of  brows  went  gently  up,  but  Claude's  eyes 
met  those  of  his  cousin  with  such  an  expression  of  af- 
fection and  melancholy  that  for  an  instant  he  seemed 
to  be  transformed  to  some  other  order  of  man. 

The  slight  pause  was  broken  by  the  entrance  of  the  first 
course  proper  of  the  supper.  The  Count  took  back  his 
gage  and  thrust  it  again  to  the  conventional  resting-place 
over  his  heart;  and  while  the  innumerable  dishes  were 
being  placed  upon  the  table  or  passed  about,  he  returned 
the  patch-box  to  his  pocket  and  seated  himself  between 
his  cousin  and  Richelieu. 

"Now  that  Claude  has  given  you  his  meagre  idea  of 
the  crisis  through  which  he  passed  to-day,"  remarked 
Claude's  companion,  helping  himself  to  a  fillet  of  par- 
tridge, "  permit  me  to  advance  to  him  my  own  opinion  of 
the  affair,  as  well  as  to  lay  the  tale  before  you  all.  His 
coming  fate  shall  be  surmised  by  you.  Now  hark:  His 
Majesty  and  a  little  suite  rode  to  Rambouillet  yesterday, 
in  the  afternoon.  The  hunters  were  to  follow  this  morn- 
ing; but  they  say  that  de  Rosset  never  permits  the  King 
to  rise  earlier  than  eight  o'clock,  so  that  he  is  fain  to  be 
near  the  forest  on  the  day  of  the  chase.  1  was  with  him ; 
but,  for  some  royal  reason,  Madame  la  Duchesse,  despite 
some  very  eloquent  pleading  on  my  part,  had  refused 
to  go.  Possibly  Mme.  de  Toulouse  is  of  family  too  scru- 


M.   de   Gevres   Entertains  n 

pulous  to  receive  her. "  *  The  Dukes  and  d'Holbach  smiled. 
"Claude,  however,  was  of  the  royal  train,  for,  mark  you, 
gentlemen,  Louis  adores  the  Count  at  twenty  miles  dis- 
tance from  madame  his  cousin.  Well,  then,  at  ten  this 
morning  the  meet  was  called  at  the  edge  of  the  forest. 
His  Majesty  was  in  a  frenzy  of  eagerness,  and  looked — 
did  he  not  look  like  a  little  god,  my  dear  Count  ?  Hein  ? 
But  for  the  point.  The  first  deer  had  not  yet  been  started 
by  the  keepers  when  a  diversion  occurred.  His  Majesty 
was  talking  with  the  head  man.  There  was  a  murmur 
behind  us.  1  turned  about,  and  saw — " 

"Monsieur  le  Comte  perishing  of  loneliness,"  murmur- 
ed de  Gevres,  feebly. 

"Not  at  all.  On  the  contrary.  It  was  Monsieur  le 
Comte  dismounted,  standing  beside  the  newly  arrived  coach 
of  Mme.  de  Chateauroux,  with  his  head  so  very  far  inside 
the  window  that  it  set  some  of  us  thinking — many  things. 
Parbleu !  1  would  that  you  had  seen  Louis'  face." 

"Madame  must  have  risen  very  early,"  remarked 
d'Epernon,  helping  himself  to  a  cream. 

"Madame  is  always  wonderful.  When  she  stepped 
from  the  conveyance  to  greet  her  liege  she  looked  more 
of  a  queen  than  her  Majesty  ever  did.  Small  wonder  that 
the  King  was  all  devotion.  Before  he  had  finished  his 
first  compliment,  the  heartless  Leroy  came  forward  to  an- 
nounce that  stags  do  not  wait.  Madame  was  very  gra- 
cious, and  instantly  mounted  the  horse  prepared  for  her. 
She  had  driven  from  Versailles  in  her  crimson  habit.  When 
all  was  ready,  the  King  turned  in  his  saddle  and  cried 
out  before  us :  '  What  reward  have  you  to  offer,  madame, 
to  him  who  shall  present  you  with  the  antlers  to-day?' 
We  all  watched  her.  She  smiled  charmingly  for  an  in- 
stant. Some  turned  their  eyes  then  upon  the  King.  I 
was  more  subtle.  1  gazed  at  Claude." 

"  He  is  certainly  very  pleasant  to  look  upon,"  observed 
d'Holbach,  absently. 

*  The  Count  of  Toulouse  was  a  legitimated  son  of  Louis  XIV. 


12  The  House   of  de  Mailly 

"  'Twas  not  his  beauty,  Baron.  I  am  most  tender  of 
his  modesty.  But,  next  time  1  plead  with  Mile.  Mercier 
for  life  and  hope,  1  shall  imitate  the  look  he  wore  at  that 
moment." 

"Take  care,  my  dear  Richelieu.  She  will  marry  you 
if  you  do." 

"On  my  faith,  that  would  not  be  bad.  'Tis  an  excel- 
lent way  to  rid  one's  self  of  a  woman.  Baron,  the  carp 
is  marvellous.  Madame,  of  course,  offered  the  glove  that 
you  have  seen  as  gage  of  triumph.  It  is  worth  eighty 
livres.  Lesage  himself  did  the  miniatures.  When  we  finally 
set  off,  Louis'  eyes  were  bright  with  certainty  of  success ; 
for  who  would  dare  to  engage  in  rivalry  with  the  King?" 

"Come,  come,  du  Plessis,  finish  the  tale.  You  are 
straining  the  budding  nonchalance  of  de  Mailly  here  to 
an  alarming  degree." 

Richelieu  shrugged.  "We  started,  madame  follow- 
ing at  a  little  distance,  though  half  a  dozen  ladies  rode. 
After  a  quarter  of  an  hour  we  got  sight  of  the  animal, 
and  de  Sauvre  fired  at  it,  but  missed.  By  the  manner 
in  which  his  Majesty  sat  his  horse,  as  we  raced  along 
to  gain  on  the  beast,  we  all  knew  that  our  shots  must  go 
astray  to-day.  Gradually  the  King  drew  away  from  the 
rest  of  us,  and  we  reined  the  horses  a  little.  That  is,  all 
but  one  of  us  played  good  courtier.  The  one  was  Claude." 

"Monsieur,  you  might  dare  Satan  for  a  lady  if  you 
would;  but  no  one  should  dare  the  King." 

"Dare  the  King  he  did.  In  five  minutes  all  of  us  were 
far  enough  behind  to  watch,  while  they  two — de  Mailly 
and  de  Bourbon,  gentlemen — were  neck  and  neck  among 
the  hounds.  Presently  the  Count  fired,  and — missed.  1 
hoped  that  it  was  purpose,  for  he  did  not  reload.  Then 
the  stag  ran  through  a  little  clearing,  so  that  for  fifty 
yards  it  was  a  perfect  mark.  Louis  fired,  of  course,  but 
the  game  kept  on.  1  saw  the  King  throw  back  his  head 
with  his  gesture  of  anger.  Then  de  Mailly — oh  !  how 
couldst  thou,  Claude? — drew  a  pistol  from  his  holster  and 
fired.  That  bullet  was  made  for  death.  I  never  saw  a 


M.   de    Gevres   Entertains  13 

prettier  shot.  It  went  straight  into  the  deer's  neck.  An- 
other five  yards.  The  animal  wavered.  The  King  was 
reloading  his  weapon.  Claude  was  like  lightning  with 
his  hands.  Before  his  Majesty's  gun  was  ready  the  pistol 
sounded  again,  and  the  beast  fell." 

"Good  Heaven,  Claude!  You  have  done  badly!"  cried 
Henri,  leaning  over  the  table. 

His  words  were  echoed  by  the  rest. 

"But  his  Majesty  permitted  you  the  trophy?"  drawled 
d'Epernon,  unguardedly. 

"Permitted,  my  lord!"  exclaimed  the  young  man, 
haughtily;  "the  gauntlet  was  not  his  Majesty's  to  give." 

Richelieu  laughed.  '  'Twas  a  comedy,  gentlemen  ; 
but  a  dangerous  one.  Louis  was  suavely  furious;  ma- 
dame  annoyed  and  alarmed,  but  as  indifferent  as  any 
coquette  should  be.  Claude  was  charmingly  humble 
and  amorous.  It  was  1  who  obtained  permission  for  him 
and  for  myself  to  retire  after  luncheon.  Certainly,  Louis 
seemed  entirely  willing  to  grant  it.  So  together  we  re- 
turned to  Versailles,  dressed,  and  came  on  here.  And 
—  oh!  1  had  forgot  to  mention  it,  but  'twas  a  marked 
fact  that  when  madame  presented  her  left  gauntlet  to  her 
cousin,  the  January  skies  instantly  began  to  weep.  Now, 
a  question :  Was  it  from  sympathy  with  the  King,  or  dread 
for  the  Count  de  Mailly?" 

"Fear  for  the  Count,  du  Plessis.  The  King  needs 
small  sympathy." 

"  Possibly  thou'rt  right,  Baron.  Who  so  happy  as  the 
King?  What  does  he  lack?  He  is  a  King ;  he  has  France 
for  his  purse;  he  is  as  handsome  as  the  Queen  is  ugly; 
and  the  most  stately  woman  in  Europe  inhabits  the  little 
apartments.  What  more  could  he  wish  for?" 

Claude  bit  his  lip  and  his  eyes  sparkled  with  anger. 

"M.  de  Mailly,  you  do  not  eat." 

"1  have  finished,  Baron." 

"Soho!  1  did  well  not  to  have  a  second  course,  then. 
Now,  gentlemen,  the  toasts.  M.  de  Mailly-Nesle,  1  propose 
your  marquise." 


14          The  House   of  de   Mailly 

"Not  his  wife,  d'Holbach!" 

"You  mistake,  Monsieur  le  Due.  1  speak  of  Mme.  de 
Coigny." 

"  Ah !     With  pleasure !     She  is  a  most  piquant  madcap. " 

Henri  flushed.  The  lady  whom  he  deeply  and  sincerely 
loved  was  a  far  tenderer  subject  with  him  than  his  reck- 
less and  heartless  companions  dreamed  of  or  could  have  un- 
derstood. But  he  drank  the  toast  without  comment,  and 
was  relieved  to  find  that  the  conversation  was  straying 
from  her  as  well  as  from  his  cousin's  affair.  Claude, 
perhaps,  was  not  so  well  pleased.  He  was  too  young 
a  lover,  and  too  much  in  love,  to  rejoice  that  other  women 
were  being  brought  up  for  discussion;  and  he  was  too 
heedless  of  the  delicacy  of  his  position  to  care  to  contem- 
plate its  different  aspects  while  the  others  talked.  For, 
as  to  the  matter  of  royal  disfavor,  it  disturbed  him  not 
in  the  least ;  rather  he  looked  upon  the  prospect  of  it  as 
something  which  should  redound  to  his  credit  in  the  eyes 
of  her  who  at  present  constituted  the  single  motive  of 
his  life.  For  the  next  twenty  minutes,  then,  he  sat  over 
his  wine,  drinking  all  the  toasts,  and  joining  in  the  con- 
versation when  Mme.  de  Lauraguais,  another  sister  of 
Henri's,  was  mentioned.  But  the  interest  had  gone  out 
of  his  eyes.  Richelieu  marked  him  silently;  d'Holbach 
smiled  with  kindly  humor  on  perceiving  his  preoccupa- 
tion ;  and  his  cousin  the  Marquis  read  his  mood  with  re- 
gret. Henri  de  Mailly-Nesle  had  long  since  given  up  any 
hope  of  control  over  his  sister,  the  favorite ;  and,  through 
a  life-long  companionship,  Claude  had  been  to  him  closer 
than  a  brother.  Thus,  whatever  interest  he  felt  in  the  lat- 
est developments  of  the  Count's  rash  rivalry  with  the  King, 
was  all  on  behalf  of  the  weaker  side,  that  of  his  friend. 

The  six  gentlemen  had  not  been  more  than  twenty  min- 
utes over  their  wine  when  de  Ge"vres  finally  rose  from  his 
chair,  and,  as  host  for  the  remainder  of  the  night,  made 
suggestion  of  departure. 

"  How  shall  we  cross  to  my  hdtel  ?  It  rains  too  heavily 
for  riding.  Shall  we  go  by  chair?" 


M.   de   Gevres   Entertains  15 

"  By  chair,  monsieur  !  Pardieu !  1  had  thought  we 
were  citizens  to-night.  Let  us  walk." 

"  My  dear  Baron,"  expostulated  d'Epernon, "  my  surtout 
would  not  stand  it,  1  swear  to  you!" 

"  A  murrain  on  your  surtout ! "  retorted  Richelieu.  "  Bar- 
on, I  accompany  you  on  foot." 

"  And  I  also/'  added  Claude.  "  1  wish  to  ruin  my  boots 
completely.  I  have  given  Rochard  too  many  things  of 
late." 

"  A  bad  idea,  Count.  Pay  your  servants,  and  they  leave 
you  at  once ;  it  is  such  a  bourgeois  thing  to  do. " 

"We  walk,  then?"  inquired  d'Epernon.  "I  am  sure  we 
must  be  going  to  do  so  when  M.  de  Gevres  addresses  M.  de 
Mailly  upon  the  care  of  servants.  Monsieur  le  Marquis — 
your  servant." 

Richelieu  and  the  Baron  were  already  at  the  door. 
D'Epernon  and  Henri  followed.  There  was  nothing  for  it 
but  for  the  third  Duke  to  accept  the  companionship  of  the 
Count,  and  prepare  to  ruin  his  surtout  also.  As  the  small 
party  passed  out  of  the  door  of  the  cafe,  Richelieu  called 
over  his  shoulder : 

"Your  horse  is  here,  Claude.  I  had  mine  sent  to  my 
hotel.  Surely  you  will  not  attempt  to  ride  back  to  Ver- 
sailles to-night.  Will  you  lodge  with  me?" 

"  Thank  you ;  but  Henri  will  house  me,  I  think — will  you 
not,  cousin?" 

"Certainly,  Claude.  Madame  will  scarcely  have  any 
one  in  my  wing  to-night,  I  think ;  though  I  confess  that  I 
have  not  been  there  for  a  week." 

"A  bad  idea,"  muttered  Richelieu  to  the  Baron.  "I 
kept  my  ladies  in  better  training — when  1  had  them." 

It  was  fifteen  minutes'  rapid  walk  from  the  Procope  to 
the  Hotel  de  Gevres.  From  the  Quai  des  Tournelles  the 
six  proceeded  to  the  Pont  St.  Michel,  over  the  river,  across 
the  island,  and  to  the  new  city  by  the  Pont  au  Change,  at 
the  east  end  of  which,  near  the  Place  du  Chat,  stood  the 
most  recent  and  most  noted  gambling-house  in  Paris. 
Three  or  four  lanterns,  shining  dimly  through  the  drip- 


16  The  House   of  de  Mailly 

ping  night,  lighted  the  doorways,  which  were  open  to  the 
weather.  Richelieu,  d'Holbach,  d'Epernon,  and  Henri  en- 
tered together,  with  Claude  and  de  G^vres  close  behind. 
It  was  Richelieu  who  accosted  the  manager  of  the  house 
in  the  entresol;  for  the  owner  of  the  place  was  not  desirous 
of  recognition.  M.  Basquinet,  discerning  that  the  new- 
comers were  of  rank,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  they  came 
on  foot,  at  once  offered  a  private  room. 

"The  devil,  good  cit,  d'ye  take  us  for  a  pack  of  farmers- 
general?  By  my  marrow,  I've  scarcely  livres  enough  to 
grease  the  dice-cup,  let  alone  paying  your  nobility  prices 
for  new  wine  and  bad  rum.  Private  room — ha!  excellent, 
you  tax-collector,  excellent,  excellent!" 

So  spake  Richelieu,  in  his  favorite  badaud,  with  a  tone 
that  no  dweller  in  the  Court  of  Miracles  could  have  bettered 
for  its  purpose.  The  little  party  smiled  covertly  at  sight 
of  the  landlord's  crestfallen  air,  and  then  the  other  five 
followed  their  new  plebeian  leader  up  the  broad  ancestral 
staircase,  leaving  behind  the  steady  murmur  of  voices  and 
the  chink  of  coin  which  had  reached  their  ears  from  the 
chance-machine  rooms  on  either  side  of  the  hallway.  On 
the  second  floor  were  the  public  rooms  for  played  games ; 
on  the  third,  private  apartments  for  such  as  chose  to  make 
a  retreat  of  the  place.  And,  in  truth,  many  a  well-known 
quarrel  had  fomented,  and  many  a  desperate  duel  already 
been  fought,  in  those  chambers,  which  of  old  had  sheltered 
the  royal  and  noble  guests  of  the  family  de  Gevres. 

The  dice-room,  the  destination  of  Monsieur  le  Due's 
present  distinguished  company,  was  very  large,  having  once 
been  the  grand  salon  of  the  house.  It  was  well  filled  by 
this  hour,  thick  with  smoke,  heavy -aired  with  the  fumes 
of  mulled  wine,  and  alive  with  the  clack  of  the  implements 
of  the  game  and  the  subdued  murmur  of  exclamations  and 
utterances.  The  six  gentlemen  made  their  way  to  a  table 
in  the  far  corner  of  the  room  from  which  the  door  was  in- 
visible; and,  seating  themselves,  they  called  at  once  for 
the  cups,  English  pipes,  and  English  rum. 

"By  all  means,  rum,"  nodded  the  Baron  d'Holbach. 


M.  de    Gevres   Entertains  17 

"What  other  beverage  would  harmonize  with  this  scene? 
We  are  surrounded  by  those  a  step  lower  than  the  bour- 
geoisie. For  the  time  we  also  are  lower  than  the  bour- 
geoisie." 

"And  by  to-morrow  we  shall  have  still  stronger  means 
of  appreciation/'  retorted  d'Epernon,  "for  our  heads  will 
feel  as  those  of  the  bourgeoisie  never  did." 

The  rum  was  brought,  however,  together  with  dice,  and 
those  long-stemmed  clay  pipes  of  which  one  broke  three 
or  four  of  an  evening,  and  but  rarely  drew  more  than  one 
mouthful  of  smoke  from  a  light.  Still  imitating  the  man- 
ners of  those  about  them,  each  two  gentlemen  played  with 
a  single  cup,  thus  doing  away  with  any  possibility  of  loaded 
dice.  Unlike  the  common  people,  however,  they  used  no 
money  on  the  table ;  perhaps  for  the  simplest  of  reasons — 
that  they  had  no  money  to  use.  "Poor  as  a  nobleman, 
rich  as  a  bourgeois,"  was  a  common  enough  expression  at 
that  day,  and  as  true  as  such  sayings  generally  are.  How 
debts  of  honor  were  paid  at  Versailles  none  but  those  con- 
cerned ever  knew.  But  paid  they  always  were,  and  that 
within  the  time  agreed  upon ;  and  there  was  no  newly  in- 
vented extravagance,  no  fresh  and  useless  method  of  ex- 
penditure for  baubles  or  jewelled  garments,  that  every 
courtier  did  not  feel  it  a  duty  as  well  as  pleasure  to  indulge 
at  once.  For  the  last  twenty-five  years  there  had  been, 
as  for  the  next  five  there  would  be,  a  continually  increasing 
costliness  in  the  mode  of  Court  life,  and  a  consequent 
diminution  in  Court  incomes,  until  the  end — the  end  of 
all  things  for  France's  highest  and  best — should  come 
with  merciful,  swift  fury. 

Each  member  of  the  party,  this  evening,  played  with  him 
in  whose  company  he  had  walked  from  the  cafe1 :  de  G6 vres 
and  the  Count;  Richelieu  and  d'Holbach;  d'Epernon  and 
Mailly-Nesle.  The  three  games  were  in  marked  contrast 
to  those  carried  on  about  them.  Not  a  word  relative  to 
losses  or  winnings  was  spoken.  The  stakes  were  agreed 
upon  almost  in  whispers ;  the  cubes  were  rattled  and  thrown 
— once;  then  again  from  the  other  side.  The  differences 

2 


i8          The  House    of  de  Mailly 

were  noted  mentally.  Winner  and  loser  sipped  their  rum, 
drew  at  a  pipe,  and  made  a  new  stake.  Sometimes  ten 
minutes  would  be  spent  in  watching  the  noisy  eagerness 
of  men  at  a  neighboring  table,  for  that  was  the  chief  object 
in  their  coming  to-night. 

The  great  hall  was  filled  with  those  of  an  essentially 
low  order.  Coarse  faces,  coarse  manners,  coarse  gar- 
ments, and  coarse  oaths  abounded  there,  though  now 
and  again  might  be  found  a  velvet  coat,  a  lace  ruffle,  and 
a  manner  badly  aped  from  the  supposed  elegancies  of 
the  Court.  A  strange  and  motley  throng  gathered  from 
all  Paris  wherever  this  common  vice  held  men  in  its  grip. 
Here  those  from  the  criminal  quarters,  from  the  Faubourg 
St.  Antoine,  from  the  streets  of  petty  shopkeepers  and 
tradesmen,  from  the  little  bourgeoisie,  came  to  mingle 
together,  indiscriminately,  equalized,  rendered  careless  of 
the  origin  of  companions  by  their  common  love  of  the 
dice.  Here  were  men  of  all  ages,  from  the  fierce  stripling 
who  regarded  a  franc  as  a  fortune,  to  the  senile  creature, 
glued  to  his  chair,  the  cubes  rattling  continually  in  his 
trembling  cup,  and  the  varying  luck  of  the  evening  his 
life  and  death.  All  the  pettiness  and  some  of  the  nobility 
to  be  found  in  mankind  were  portrayed  here,  could  those 
who  had  come  to  study  have  read  aright.  D'Holbach, 
the  philosopher,  doubtless  did  so,  for  men  had  been  his 
mental  food  for  many  years.  Nevertheless  he  said  noth- 
ing to  Richelieu  of  what  he  discovered;  but  took  snuff 
when  he  lost,  and  puffed  at  his  pipe  when  he  won,  and 
cogitated  alone  among  those  whom  he  knew  so  well. 

Time  drew  on  apace  and  the  evening  was  passing. 
There  were  few  arrivals  now;  the  rooms  were  filled, 
and  it  was  too  early  for  departure.  M.  de  GeVres  wished, 
possibly,  that  the  hours  would  hurry  a  little,  for  he  was 
losing  heavily  to  Claude.  Nevertheless  he  gave  no  sign 
of  discomfort,  and  even  interrupted  the  Count's  purposeful 
pauses  to  continue  the  game.  Just  as  de  Mailly  shook 
for  a  stake  of  five  hundred  livres,  two  people,  gentlemen 
by  dress,  entered  the  room.  Claude  threw  high.  The 


M.   de   Gevres   Entertains  19 

Duke,  with  an  inward  exclamation  of  anger,  gently  re- 
ceived the  cup.  He  shook  with  perfect  nonchalance,  and 
finally  dropped  the  ivory  squares  delicately  before  him. 

"Bravo,  M.  de  Gevres;  you  have  thrown  well!" 

The  Duke  started  to  his  feet.  His  example  was  speedily 
followed  by  the  rest  of  the  party,  who,  after  bowing  with 
great  respect,  stood  looking  in  amazement  at  the  new- 
comer. His  companion,  who  was  bareheaded,  remained 
a  little  behind,  grinning  good-naturedly  at  the  gamesters. 
Richelieu  spoke  first : 

"Indeed,  your  Maj — " 

"Pardon,  du  Plessis,  the  Chevalier  Melot." 

'  Your  pardon,  Sire.     You  take  us  by  surprise." 

"Has  any  one  suffered  from  the  shock?" 

"1,  Sire,  1  think,  since  your  coming  has  turned  my 
luck,"  remarked  Claude,  with  the  double  meaning  in  his 
words  perfectly  apparent  to  every  one  there. 

"  Um — yes,  1  had  thought  M.  de  Gevres  must  win  with 
eleven.  Come,  gentlemen,  add  two  to  your  party,  and  for- 
get, for  the  evening,  even  as  he  will  do,  the  unimpeach- 
able propriety  of  M.  de  Berryer."* 

De  Berryer  laughed,  and  drew  two  more  chairs  to  the 
table. 

"Do  not  stand,"  continued  the  King..  "1  am  merely 
Chevalier  to-night." 

Louis  seated  himself  beside  Richelieu,  with  whom  he 
evinced  a  desire  to  speak  privately.  D'Holbach,  perceiv- 
ing this,  began  at  once,  with  his  usual  tact,  to  entertain 
the  rest  of  the  company  by  an  anecdote  concerning 
d'Alembert  and  Voltaire.  Immediately  the  King  turned 
to  his  favorite  courtier. 

"De  Mailly  came  straight  to  Paris  with  you  to-day?" 

"  We  rode  to  Versailles  first,  Sire ;  changed  our  clothes 
there,  and  came  hither  immediately." 

"  And  now  the  truth,  Richelieu.  1  will  brook  nothing 
less.  He  did  not  see  madame  after  he  left  the  hunt?" 

*  The  Chief  of  Police,  and  a  favorite  companion  of  the  King. 


20          The   House   of,de  Mailly 

The  Duke  opened  his  eyes.  "  We  left  Mme.  de  Chateau- 
roux  with  you.  We  have  not  seen  her  since." 

The  King  drew  a  deep  breath.  "She  left  the  hunting- 
party  half  an  hour  after  you,  knowing  that  it  was  not  in 
my  power  to  follow  her.  1  feared  it  was  to  join — him. 
1  have  left  everything  to  make  sure  of  his  whereabouts. 
The  fellow  drives  me  mad." 

While  Louis  spoke  a  gleam  came  into  the  Duke's  eyes. 
He  smiled  slightly,  and  said;  with  a  nod  towards  de  Berryer, 
and  that  daring  which  was  permitted  to  him  alone,  "  Your 
Majesty  brought  a  lettre -de -cachet  in  some  one  else's 
pocket?" 

Louis  looked  slightly  nonplussed.  He  shrugged,  how- 
ever, as  he  answered,  "No  lettre-de-cachet  will  be  used." 
Then,  as  the  laughter  from  the  Baron's  tale  subsided,  the 
King  addressed  the  party :  "  We  will  not  stop  your  game, 
my  friends.  In  fact — in  fact,  I  will  myself  play  one  of 
you." 

"And  which  of  us  is  to  be  so  honored,  Chevalier?"  in- 
quired d'Epernon. 

"It  is  a  difficult  choice,  I  confess.  However,  choice 
must  be.  Monsieur  le  Comte,  will  you  try  three  turns 
with  me?" 

There  was  a  little  round  of  glances  as  Claude  bowed, 
murmuring  appreciation  of  the  honor. 

"The  dice,  then!"  cried  the  King.  "Richelieu,  your 
cup.  We  will  play  with  but  one. " 

"And  he  who  throws  twice  best  shall  win?"  repeated 
the  Duke. 

"Yes." 

"What  are  the  stakes?"  inquired  the  Baron,  gently. 

Claude's  heart  sank,  while  his  cousin  dared  not  allow 
his  sympathy  to  appear.  It  was  frequently  ruinous  work, 
this  gaming  with  a  King ;  and  the  revenues  of  the  younger 
branch  of  the  house  of  de  Mailly  were  not  great. 

"The  stakes,"  returned  Louis,  with  a  long  glance  at 
his  opponent,  "shall  be,  on  my  side — "  he  threw  back 
his  cloak,  unbuttoned  a  plain  surtout,  and  from  his  ruffles 


M.   de    Gevres   Entertains  21 

unfastened  a  diamond  star  of  great  value — "this."  He 
placed  it  upon  the  table. 

There  was  a  little,  regular  murmur  of  conventional  ad- 
miration. Claude  bit  his  lip  thoughtfully.  "And  mine?" 
he  asked,  looking  squarely  at  the  King. 

Louis  coughed,  and  waved  one  hand,  with  a  gesture 
of  deprecation  at  the  question.  "  Yours  should  not  be  so 
large.  We  play  to  the  goddess  of  chance.  You — um — 
ha — you  won,  to-day,  a  certain  gauntlet  of  white  leather; 
a  simple  thing,  but  it  will  do.  I  will  play  this  for  that. 
You  see  the  odds  are  favorable  to  you." 

Claude  flushed  scarlet,  and  not  a  man  at  the  table  moved. 
"The  gauntlet  was  a  gage,  Sire." 

"We  play  for  it,"  was  the  reply. 

The  Count  glanced  round  the  circle,  noting  each  face 
in  turn.  Baron  d'Holbach  was  engaged  with  snuff. 
The  other  faces,  excepting  only  de  Berryer's,  were  blank. 
But  Richelieu's  eyes  met  those  of  Claude,  and  the  head 
of  the  King's  favorite  gentleman  shook,  ever  so  slightly, 
at  the  rebellion  in  the  Count's  face.  Then,  very  slowly, 
de  Mailly  unfastened  his  coat  and  drew  from  its  place 
the  glove  of  Mme.  de  Chateauroux.  He  laid  it  on  the 
table  beside  the  star. 

"We  play!"  cried  his  Majesty,  smiling  as  he  seized  the 
leathern  cup.  He  shook  well,  and  dropped  the  dice  vigor- 
ously before  him. 

"Seven!"  cried  the  company.     It  was  four  and  three. 

Claude  received  the  implements  from  the  King's  hands, 
tossed  and  threw. 

"Eight!"  was  the  return.     It  was  three  and  five. 

The  King  bit  his  lip,  and  hastily  played  again.  The 
cubes  stared  up  at  him  impudently.  On  one  was  a  three, 
on  the  other  a  one.  None  spoke,  for  Louis  frowned. 

Claude  was  very  sober  but  very  composed  as  he  tried 
his  second  chance.  It  seemed  that  he  could  not  but  win. 
The  courtiers  hung  quietly  on  the  play.  When  the  cup 
was  lifted  from  the  dice  there  was  a  series  of  exclama- 
tions. Claude  himself  laughed  a  little,  and  the  King 


22  The  House  of  de  Mailly 


drew  a  long  sigh  of  relief.  Two  and  one  had  de  Mailly 
thrown. 

It  was  Henri  who  voiced  the  general  interest.  "You 
are  even/'  he  said,  quietly. 

The  King  suddenly  rose  to  his  feet.  "Not  for  long!" 
he  exclaimed.  For  some  seconds  he  rattled  the  dice  in  the 
box,  not  attempting  to  conceal  his  palpable  nervousness. 
When  the  black  spots  which  lay  uppermost  were  finally 
counted,  a  smile  broke  over  the  royal  lips.  Ten  points  he 
had  made  this  time. 

De  Mailly,  who  had  also  risen,  looked  at  them  for  a  sec- 
ond with  compressed  lips,  but  did  not  hesitate  in  his  throw. 
Like  de  Gevres,  he  dropped  the  squares  before  him  with 
pointed  delicacy.  Then  he  stepped  quietly  back,  with  a 
throb  at  his  heart,  but  no  change  in  his  face.  Not  a  courtier 
spoke. 

"We  will  play  again!"  cried  the  King,  loudly,  for  they 
were,  indeed,  no  longer  even.  M.  de  Mailly  had  thrown 
six  and  six. 

"Pardon,  your  Majesty,"  said  Claude,  in  reply  to  the 
King's  voiced  desire.  "1  could  not  play  again  against 
France  and  hope  to  win,  though  by  but  a  single  point. 
Therefore  1  beg  that  you  will  spare  my  humiliation,  and 
accept  the  gauntlet  as  proof  of  your  gracious  forgiveness 
of  my  daring." 

At  this  Richelieu  looked  open-faced  approval  upon  the 
Count ;  and  de  Gevres  and  d'Epernon,  who  had  been  roused 
from  their  ordinary  state  of  ennui  by  the  pretty  comedy 
played  before  them,  glanced  at  each  other  with  apprecia- 
tion of  so  excellent  an  act  of  courtiership. 

"  Monsieur  le  Comte,  if  1  accept  your  generosity,  it  must 
only  be  on  condition  that,  as  gage  of  my  esteem  for  you, 
and  our  mutual  good-will,  you  wear  this  star.  Permit  me 
to  fasten  it  upon  your  coat." 

The  small  ceremony  over,  and  the  light  of  royal  favor 
glittering  in  the  candle-rays  over  the  Count  de  Mailly's 
heart,  his  Majesty,  with  tender  touch,  took  up  the  coveted 
gauntlet,  put  it  inside  his  embroidered  waistcoat,  and, 


M.   de   Gevres   Entertains  23 

placing  his  hand  on  de  Berryer's  shoulder,  bowed  a  good- 
night to  the  party  and  the  Hotel  de  Gevres. 

Immediately  after  the  King  left,  the  other  participant  in 
the  struggle  for  a  woman's  gage  also  rose.  Claude  was 
tired.  He  had  no  mind  to  be  assailed  with  the  volley  of 
epigrams,  bons-mots,  and  various  comments  that  he  knew 
would  soon  begin  to  be  discharged  from  the  brains  of  his 
companions.  Certainly,  he  should  have  considered  the 
episode  a  happy  one.  Already,  since  that  talk  of  esteem 
and  good-wrill  from  the  King,  he  could  feel  the  change 
in  attitude  assumed  towards  him  by  de  Gevres  and  d'Eper- 
non.  But  the  sight  of  these  figures  wearied  him  now; 
and  he  suddenly  longed  for  a  solitude  in  which  to  face  his 
rapidly  growing  regret  that  his  cousin's  glove  had  passed 
out  of  his  possession. 

"What,  monsieur!"  cried  de  Gevres,  when  he  rose,  "you 
will  not  give  me  the  chance  to  retrieve  myself  to-night?" 

"Small  hope  for  you  with  such  luck  as  the  Count's," re- 
turned d'Holbach.  "  When  a  man  wins  two  points  off  a 
king,  by  how  much  may  he  defeat  a  duke  ?  Reply,  Riche- 
lieu. It  is  geometry." 

Richelieu  laughed.  "1  congratulate  you,  Monsieur  le 
Comte,"  he  said. 

De  Mailly  bowed.  Then,  turning  to  the  Marquis,  he 
held  out  his  hand.  "  Will  you  come,  Henri,  or  must  1  beg 
shelter  of  Madame  la  Marquise  alone?" 

"I  come,  Claude.  Good-night,  and  thanks  for  a  most 
charming  evening,  and  a  comedy  worthy  of  Grandval, 
messieurs." 

"Thank  thy  sister  for  that,"  returned  de  Gevres. 

Claude  made  a  general  salute,  and  then,  without  fur- 
ther parley,  accompanied  his  friend  from  the  room  and 
the  house. 

"My  horse  is  still  at  the  Procope,"  observed  Claude  at 
the  door. 

"No,  I  ordered  it  sent  to  my  hotel  before  we  left  the 
caf6  " 

"We  walk,  then?" 


24  The  House   of  de  Mailly 

"  I  am  afraid  so.  1  did  not  think  to  order  my  coach,  and 
not  a  chair  will  be  obtainable  on  such  a  night." 
"It  is  as  well.  The  exercise  will  be  a  relief." 
They  started  at  a  good  pace  up  the  long,  wide  thorough- 
fare that  bordered  the  river,  and  walked  for  some  minutes 
in  a  silence  that  was  replete  with  sympathy.  It  was  some 
distance  from  the  gambling-house  "to  the  H6tel  de  Mailly, 
Henri's  abode,  which  was  situated  on  the  west  bank  of  the 
Seine,  on  the  Quai  des  Theatins,  just  opposite  the  Tuileries, 
on  the  Pont  Royal.  The  wind  was  coming  sharply  from 
the  east,  bringing  with  it  great,  pelting  rain-drops  that 
stung  the  face  like  bullets.  Henri  was  glad  to  shield  his 
head  from  the  cutting  attack  by  holding  his  heavy  cloak 
up  before  it.  Ordinarily  the  walk  at  this  hour  would  have 
been  one  of  no  small  danger ;  but  to-night  even  the  dwellers 
in  the  criminal  quarter  were  undesirous  of  plying  their 
midnight  trade  by  the  river-bank.  The  cousins  had  passed 
the  dark  cluster  of  buildings  about  the  old  Louvre  before 
either  spoke.  At  length,  however,  the  Marquis  broke  si- 
lence. 

"Claude,  you  have  passed  a  point  in  life  to-day,  I 
think." 

"With  the  two  that  1  won  from  the  King,  Henri?" 
"Those  and  the  gauntlet  of  Marie  Anne." 
There  was  a  little  pause.     Then  Claude  said,  in  a  tone 
whose  weary  monotony  indicated  a  subject  so  often  thought 
of  as  to  be  trite  even  in  expression : 

"Do  you — ever  regret — that  Anne  went  the  way — of 
the  other  two?  Will  she — do  you  think,  finish  as  did  poor 
little  Pauline?  Or — will  some  other  send  her  from  her 
place — as — she  did — my  brother's  wife,  Louise?" 

As  Claude  had  hesitated  over  the  questions,  so  was  Henri 
long  in  making  reply.  "1  do  not  allow  myself,  Claude, 
to  wonder  over  might-have-beens.  There  is  a  fate  upon 
our  family,  1  think.  But  of  the  three  of  our  women  who 
have  gone  her  way,  Marie  is  the  fittest  of  them  all  for  her 
place.  Little  Pauline — F61icite,  we  named  her — her  death 
— my  God,  1  do  not  like  to  think  of  it!  And  poor,  weak 


M.    de   Gevres   Entertains          25 

Louise — your  brother  IdVed  her  dearly,  Claude.  And  he 
is  dead,  and  she — is  making  her  long  penance  in  that 
great  tomb  of  the  Ursulines.  Heigh-ho !  Thank  the  good 
God,  my  cousin,  that  you  have  neither  sister  nor  wife  in 
this  Court  of  France.  There  is  not  one  of  them  can  with- 
stand the  great  temptation.  Our  times  were  not  made  for 
the  women  we  love/' 

And  for  the  rest  of  their  walk  both  men  thought  upon 
these  same  last  words,  which,  through  Claude's  head,  at 
least,  had  begun  to  ring  like  a  dark  refrain  of  prophecy, 
of  warning :  "  Our  times  were  not  made  for  the  women  we 
love." 

It  was  half  an  hour  past  midnight  when  the  Marquis 
pounded  the  knocker  on  the  door  of  his  hotel  by  the  Seine. 
It  was  opened  with  unusual  readiness  by  the  liveried  por- 
ter, who  betrayed  some  surprise  at  sight  of  those  who 
waited  to  enter. 

"Oh,  my  lord  is  not  at  Versailles!" 

"As  you  see,  we  are  here,"  returned  Henri,  adding, 
"My  apartment  is  ready?" 

"Certainly,  Monsieur  le  Marquis'  apartment  is  ready." 

"And  one  for  Monsieur  le  Comte?" 

The  servant  bowed. 

"Light  us  up,  then.     Claude,  will  you  have  supper?" 

"  No.     Nothing  more  to-night. " 

"Very  well.     Gaillard,  is  madame  visible?" 

The  porter  coughed.  "Madame  la  Marquise  was  at 
Mme.  de  Tencin's  till  late.  Madame,  1  think,  is  not  visi- 
ble." 

Mailly-Nesle  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  proceeded  to 
the  staircase.  As  the  servant  followed  with  a  candelabrum 
he  made  a  curious,  soft  noise  in  his  throat.  Forthwith  a 
footman  glided  swiftly  into  the  hall  from  an  antechamber, 
and  took  the  other's  place  beside  the  door  as  if  waiting  for 
some  one.  Both  nobles  saw  it.  Neither  spoke. 

Five  minutes  later  Claude  was  alone  in  his  room.  Henri 
had  left  him  for  the  night,  and  he  refused  the  services 
of  a  lackey  in  lieu  of  his  own  valet,  who  was  at  Versailles. 


26          The  House   of  de  Mailly 

The  servant  had  lighted  his  candles,  and  a  wood-fire  burned 
in  the  grate.  His  wet  coat  had  been  carried  away  to  dry. 
His  hat,  surtout,  and  gloves  lay  upon  a  neighboring  chair. 
Amid  the  lace  of  his  jabot  glittered  the  jewelled  star  which, 
two  hours  ago,  had  flashed  upon  the  breast  of  the  King 
of  France.  Claude  seated  himself,  absently,  in  a  chair 
beside  the  cheerily  crackling  fire,  facing  a  great  picture 
that  hung  upon  the  brocaded  wall.  It  was  Boucher's 
portrait  of  Marie  Anne  de  Mailly-Nesle,  Marquise  de  la 
Tournelle,  Duchesse  de  Chateauroux.  She  looked  down 
upon  him  now  in  that  calmly  superb  manner  which  she 
had  used  only  this  morning;  the  manner  that  the  Court 
had  raved  over,  that  women  vainly  strove  to  imitate,  that 
had  conquered  the  indifference  of  a  king.  And  as  Claude 
de  Mailly  gazed,  his  own  air,  shamed  perhaps  by  that  of 
the  woman,  fell  from  him,  as  a  sheet  might  fall  from  a 
statue.  In  one  instant  he  was  a  different  thing.  He 
had  become  an  individual;  a  man  with  a  strong  men- 
tality of  his  own.  The  courtier's  mask  of  imperturba- 
ble cynicism,  the  conventional  domino  of  forced  interest, 
the  detestable  undergarments  of  necessary  toadyism,  all 
were  gone.  Not  the  patch  on  his  face,  not  the  height  of 
his  heels,  not  the  whiteness  of  his  hands  nor  the  breadth 
of  his  cuffs  could  make  him  now.  Perhaps  she  whose 
painted  likeness  was  before  him  would  no  more  have  cared 
to  know  him  as  he  really  was  than  she  would  have  liked 
the  words  that  he  uttered,  dreamily,  before  her  picture. 
But  it  was  the  true  Claude,  Claude  the  man,  nevertheless, 
who  repeated  aloud  the  thought  in  his  heart: 

"  Our  times  are  not  made  for  the  women  we  love. " 


D 


CHAPTER   II 

The  Toilet 

AWN,  the  late  dawn  of  a  gray,  wintry  morn- 
ing, hung  over  Versailles.  Within  the  pal- 
ace walls  those  vast  corridors,  which  had 
lately  rung  to  sounds  of  life  and  laughter, 
stretched  endlessly  out  in  the  ghostly  chill 
of  the  vague  light.  Chill  and  stillness  had  crept  also 
under  many  doors;  and  they  breathed  over  that  stately 
room  in  which  Marie  Anne  de  Chateauroux  was  accus- 
tomed to  take  the  few  hours  of  relief  from  feverish  life 
granted  her  by  kindly  sleep. 

Though  the  favorite's  apartment  was  as  dark  as  drawn 
curtains  could  make  it,  nevertheless  a  thin  gleam  of  gray 
shot  relentlessly  between  hanging  and  wall,  and,  falling 
athwart  the  canopied  bed,  announced  that  madame's  tem- 
porary rest  approached  its  end.  Against  this  decree, 
however,  madame's  attitude  would  seem  to  rebel.  She 
lay,  apparently  in  profound  sleep,  in  the  very  centre  of 
the  great  bed,  sheets  and  cover  drawn  closely  about  her, 
up  to  her  throat.  Only  one  hand,  half  hidden  in  lace, 
and  her  head,  with  its  framing  mass  of  yellow,  powder- 
dulled  hair,  were  visible.  In  her  waking  life  that  head 
of  the  Duchess  of  Chateauroux  was  celebrated  for  its 
marvellous  poise.  And  even  now,  as  it  lay  relaxed  upon 
the  pillow,  the  effect  of  its  daytime  majesty  was  not  quite 
lost.  Viewed  thus,  devoid  of  animation  or  expression, 
the  pure,  classic  beauty  of  the  face  showed  to  better  ad- 
vantage, perhaps,  than  at  another  time.  Already,  how- 
ever, ennui,  and  the  constant  effort  at  appearance  of  pleas- 
ure, had  left  their  marks  upon  the  regular  features;  and, 


28  The  House   of  de  Mailly 

indeed,  much  other  than  mere  beauty  might  be  found 
in  the  countenance.  If  there  were  power  in  the  breadth 
of  the  forehead,  there  was  too  much  determination  in 
the  chin;  while  at  each  corner  of  the  delicate  mouth  a 
faint  line  gave  a  cast  of  resolution,  dogged  and  relent- 
less, to  the  feminine  ensemble. 

Presently,  as  the  shadows  melted  more  and  more,  the 
woman's  silken-lashed  eyes  fell  open,  and  the  first  of  her 
waking  thoughts  was  expressed  in  a  long,  melancholy  sigh. 

The  duties  of  the  Duchess  as  Lady  of  the  Palace  of  the 
Queen  necessitated  her  presence  at  the  grand  toilet  of  her 
Majesty  on  Monday,  Wednesday,  and  Friday.  On  Tues- 
day, Thursday,  and  Sunday,  therefore,  except  on  those 
weeks  when  she  was  in  constant  attendance  on  Louis' 
consort,  the  Chateauroux  accustomed  the  Court  to  a  toilet 
of  her  own,  which  the  King's  faction  religiously  frequented, 
while  the  Queen's  circle,  the  religious  party,  rolled  their 
eyes,  clasped  their  hands,  violently  denounced  the  inso- 
lence of  it,  and  fervently  wished  that  they  might  go,  too. 
Certainly  madame's  morning  receptions  were  eminently 
successful,  and,  however  much  gentle  Marie  Leczinska 
might  disapprove  of  them  in  secret,  she  never  had  the 
courage  to  anger  her  husband  by  voicing  her  sense  of 
indignity.  Thus,  six  mornings  of  the  week  being  provided 
for,  on  Saturday  the  Duchess  confessed  herself,  though 
no  absolution  was  to  be  had,  and  prayed  forgiveness  for 
the  other  part  of  her  life. 

As  madame  awoke,  and  the  clock  upon  her  mantel- 
piece struck  eight,  a  door  into  the  room  swung  open,  and 
a  trimly  dressed  maid  came  in.  She  pushed  back  the 
curtains  from  the  window,  looped  them  up,  and  crossed 
to  the  bedside. 

"  'Tis  you,  Antoinette?"  came  a  voice  from  beneath  the 
canopy. 

"Yes,  madame.     Shall  1  bring  the  water?" 

"At  once." 

As  Antoinette  once  more  disappeared,  madame  sat  up 
and  pushed  aside  the  curtains  of  her  bed. 


The   Toilet  29 

For  the  following  quarter  of  an  hour,  while  the  first  part 
of  the  toilet  was  being  performed,  the  second  and  elaborate 
half  of  that  daily  function  was  prepared  for  in  the  second 
room  of  the  favorite's  suite — the  famous  boudoir.  A  re- 
markable little  room  this,  with  its  silken  hangings  of 
Persian  blue  and  green  and  white ;  and  a  remarkable  lit- 
tle man  it  was  who  sat  informally  upon  a  tabouret,  in 
the  midst  of  the  graceful  confusion  of  chairs,  sofas,  con- 
soles, and  inlaid  stands,  while  in  front  of  him  was  the 
second  dressing-table,  whereon  reposed  the  paraphernalia 
of  the  coiffeur,  and  beside  him  was  a  small  bronze  brazier, 
where  charcoal,  for  the  heating  of  irons,  burned.  The 
profession  of  M.  Marchon  was  instantly  proclaimed  by 
his  elaborate  elegance  of  wig.  He  had  been,  at  some 
time,  perruquier  to  each  French  queen  of  the  last  three 
decades,  from  Mme.  de  Prie  to  the  ill-fated  sisters  of 
the  present  Duchess.  Just  now  he  was  ogling,  in  the  last 
Court  manner,  the  second  wardrobe-girl,  who  stood  near 
him,  beside  a  spindle-legged  table,  polishing  a  mirror. 
And  Celestine  ogled  the  weazened  Marchon  while  she 
worked  and  wondered  if  madame  would  miss  her  last 
present  from  d'Argenson,  a  Chinese  mandarin  with  a 
rueful  smile,  who  sat  alone  in  the  cabinet  of  toys,  and 
ceaselessly  waved  his  head.  The  courtly  companionship 
between  the  two  servants  had  lasted  for  some  time  when 
there  came  a  faint  scratch  on  the  bedroom  door.  It  was 
Antoinette's  friendly  signal.  The  hair-dresser  leaped 
to  his  place  and  bent  over  the  irons,  while  Celestine  forced 
her  eyes  from  the  bit  of  porcelain  and  put  away  her  polish- 
ing cloth  as  Mme.  de  Chateauroux  entered  the  room. 

The  Duchess  seated  herself  before  the  first  table,  where 
Mile.  Celestine  administered  certain  effective  and  skilfully 
applied  touches  to  the  pale  face,  and  when  these  had  ren- 
dered her  to  her  mind  for  the  hour,  madame  surrendered 
herself  into  Marchon 's  hands,  where  she  would  remain  for 
a  good  part  of  the  morning. 

The  preliminary  brushing  of  the  yellow  locks  had  not 
yet  been  completed  when  the  first  valet~de-chambre  threw 


30          The  House   of  de  MailJy 

open  the  door  from  the  antechamber  and  announced  care- 
fully: 

"TheDucdeGevres." 

De  Ge"vres,  as  usual,  delayed  his  entrance  a  full  minute. 
Then  he  came  in  languidly,  snuff-box  in  his  right  hand, 
hat  under  his  arm,  peruke  immaculate,  and  eye-glass 
dangling  at  his  waist.  He  bowed.  Madame  raised  her 
hand.  The  Duke  advanced,  lifted  it  to  his  lips,  and  left 
upon  its  fair  surface  a  faint  red  trace  of  his  salute. 
Madame  smiled. 

"You  have  come  to  me  early,"  she  said. 

"I  arose,"  remarked  the  man,  pensively,  "to  find  the 
world  in  gray.  I  arrayed  myself  to  match  the  sky,  and 
came  to  seek  the  sun.  When  I  leave  you  I  shall  don  pale 
blue,  for  you  will  drive  the  clouds  from  my  day." 

Madame  smiled  again.  "Thank  you.  But  the  gray 
is  marvellously  becoming.  Pray  do  not  attempt  a  second 
toilet  this  morning.  One  is  singularly  depressing." 
.  "  Surely,  you  are  not  depressed,  Madame  de  Versailles?" 
he  asked,  idly,  examining  her  negligee  of  India  muslin 
with  approval.  "Why  depressed?  Louis  was  furious  at 
your  unaccountable  absence  from  the  salon  last  evening, 
and  would  play  with  no  one.  He  stayed  in  a  corner  for 
two  hours,  railing  at  d'Orry  and  permitting  not  a  soul  to 
approach.  Is  it  in  pity  for  him,  this  morning,  that  you 
suffer?" 

Madame  shrugged.  "I  do  not  waste  time  in  pity  of 
his  Majesty.  At  the  request  of  Mme.  d'Alincourt,  I  spent 
last  evening  in  the  apartments  of  the  Queen." 

"  Good  Heaven  !  Then,  madame,  allow  me  to  express 
my  deepest  sympathy!  I  had  no  idea  that  you  would 
play  so  recklessly  with  ennui.  Why,  your  very  gossip 
is  a  day  old  !" 

"You,  then,  monsieur,  I  hail  as  my  deliverer.  Will 
you  not  act  as  my  Nouvelles  &  la  Main,  that  I  may  make 
no  irretrievable  blunder  to-day?" 

"Madame  desires,  the  King  is  at  her  feet.  Madame 
requests,  and  the  gods  obey.  Where  must  one  begin?" 


The   Toilet  31 

"At  the  beginning." 

De  Ge"vres  smiled  slowly  in  retrospection.  It  was  for 
this  precise  opportunity  that  he  had  risen  an  hour  early 
and  dared  royal  displeasure  by  being  alone  with  the  favorite 
for  thirty  minutes.  He  rose  from  the  chair  he  had  taken, 
drew  a  tabouret  to  within  a  yard  of  the  Duchess's  knee, 
and  reseated  himself  significantly. 

"You  frighten  me,  my  lord.     It  must  be  serious." 

De  Ge"  vres  shrugged.  "  Oh,  not  necessarily.  You  shall 
judge."  He  glanced  meditatively  at  her  feet,  tapped  his 
snuff  -  box,  and  began  to  speak  just  as  Marchon  finished 
the  first  curl.  "Without  doubt,  madame,  even  after  the 
deplorable  past  evening,  you  still  recollect  the  rather 
outre  events  of  the  day  before.  You  cannot  yet  have 
forgotten  the  last  Rambouillet  chase,  the  gage  you  offered, 
his  Majesty's  unfortunate  chagrin,  and  the  intrepid,  if 
rash,  ardor  of  your  young  cousin,  Count  Claude?" 

"  Thus  far  my  memory  carries  me,  monsieur.    Continue. " 

"Well!  The  rest  is,  indeed,  curious.  In  spite  of  the 
Count's  heroic  gallantry,  he  appeared,  later  in  the  day, 
to  have  repented  somewhat  of  having  so  eagerly  dared  the 
royal  displeasure.  A  company  of  my  friends  were  so  good 
as  to  visit,  with  me,  my  hdtel — you  know  its  condition — 
for  play,  on  this  very  evening.  By  great  good  fortune, 
his  Majesty,  together  with  a  companion,  did  us  the  honor 
himself  to  join  our  part\T  a  little  later.  When  the  King 
beheld  his  successful  rival,  the  Count,  seated  with  us, 
he  instantly  proposed  that  the  two  of  them  play  a  round 
for  high  stakes.  Louis,  madame,  offered  a  diamond 
star — valued,  perhaps,  at  fifty  thousand  francs,  or  more, 
against — " 

"My  glove." 

" Even  so.  You  have,  perhaps,  heard  the  tale?"  queried 
the  Duke,  hastily,  with  a  suspicion  of  anxiety  in  his  voice. 

Mme.  de  Chateauroux  noticed  this,  but  her  face  con- 
tinued to  be  as  impassive  as  that  of  her  smiling  man- 
darin. "You  forget  my  evening,  monsieur.  I  know 
nothing.  Continue,  I  beg  of  you." 


32  The  House   of  de  Mailly 

"  Monsieur  le  Marquis  de  Coigny  and  the  Comte  de 
Maurepas!"  announced  the  valet. 

De  Ge"vres  coughed,  but  his  face  expressed  none  of  the 
disappointment  that  he  felt. 

Mme.  de  Chateauroux  greeted  both  gentlemen  with  im- 
perturbable courtesy,  and  the  three  nobles,  after  her  salutes 
were  over,  exchanged  greetings.  Then  the  favorite  said, 
at  once: 

"  Pray  be  seated,  messieurs.  M.  de  Gevres  is  telling  me 
a  most  interesting  anecdote.  Pardon  if  I  ask  him  to  fin- 
ish it.  Since  it  in  a  way  concerns  myself,  I  am  so  vain 
as  to  be  curious." 

The  late-comers  bowed  and  looked  at  the  Duke,  who, 
in  that  instant,  had  mentally  sounded  the  intruders,  con- 
sidered his  course,  and  decided  to  risk  a  continuance  of 
his  original  plan.  Without  any  noticeable  hesitation, 
the  story  went  on. 

"As  I  said,  his  Majesty  and  the  Count  de  Mailly  were 
to  play  together  for  possession  of  the  glove.  The  King 
threw  first — four  and  three.  De  Mailly  came  next  with 
five  and  two." 

"Ah!"  murmured  de  Coigny. 

"  Again  Louis  with  ten,  and  the  Count  turned  precisely 
the  same  number.  His  Majesty  was  visibly  tingling  with 
anxiety.  He  was  about  to  throw  for  the  last  time,  with 
a  prayer  to  the  gods,  when  the  Count — um — took  pity 
on  him." 

"He  offered  the  glove?"  asked  madame, quietly. 

De  G6vres  bowed.  "In  a  way,  Duchess.  He  offered 
to — exchange  the  stakes." 

"Oh!"  cried  Maurepas,  angrily. 

"Dastardly!"  muttered  de  Coigny. 

Mme.  de  Chateauroux  flushed  scarlet  with  anger  be- 
neath her  powder. 

Little  Marchon,  trained  to  high  gallantry  by  long  ex- 
perience in  haunts  of  the  elect,  left  an  iron  in  too  long, 
and  slightly  scorched  a  lock  of  hair.  His  little  eyes  winked 
furiously  with  disapproval  of  the  Count. 


The   Toilet  33 

"Monsieur  le  Marquis  de  Mailly-Nesle ! "  came  the  an- 
nouncement. 

De  Gevres  coughed  again;  and,  amid  rather  a  strained 
silence,  Henri  entered  the  apartment  of  his  sister. 

He  looked  about  him  for  a  moment  or  two  with  some 
curiosity,  feeling  the  awkwardness  of  his  arrival,  and 
considering  what  it  would  be  wise  to  say.  Maurepas, 
the  diplomat,  recovered  himself  quickly,  remarking,  in  a 
tone  which  relieved  them  all:  "This  brother's  devotion, 
my  dear  Marquis,  is  gratifying  to  behold.  One  is  really 
never  so  certain  of  finding  you  anywhere  at  a  given  hour 
as  here,  in  your  sister's  boudoir." 

"  Mine,  de  Coigny  has,  I  believe,  no  mornings  &  la  toi- 
lette," observed  Mme.  de  Coigny 's  husband. 

Maurepas  looked  sharply  at  the  speaker,  while  the  others 
smiled,  and  the  Duchess  made  every  one  still  easier  by 
laughing  lightly. 

"Her  sang-froid  is  unapproachable,"  murmured  de 
G£vres  to  Maurepas,  behind  his  hand. 

"You  have  certainly  put  it  to  strong  test  this  morning," 
was  the  reply,  rather  coldly  given. 

"L'Abbe  de  St.  Pierre  and  1'Abbe"  Devries!" 

The  two  ecclesiastics  entered  from  the  antechamber 
and  advanced,  side  by  side,  towards  the  Duchess.  The 
taller  of  the  two,  St.  Pierre,  was  a  very  desirable  person 
in  salon  society,  and  could  turn  as  neat  a  compliment  or 
as  fine  an  epigram  in  spontaneous  verse  as  any  member 
in  the  "rhyming  brotherhood."  At  sight  of  St.  Pierre's 
companion,  who  was  a  stranger  here,  the  Marquis  de 
Coigny  gave  a  sudden,  imperceptible  start,  and  Henri 
de  Mailly  suppressed  an  exclamation. 

"Madame  la  Duchesse,  permit  me  to  present  to  you 
my  friend  and  colleague,  1'Abbe  Bertrand  Devries,  of 
Fontainebleau. " 

"  I  am  charmed  to  see  you  both,"  deigned  her  Grace,  giv- 
ing her  hand  to  St.  Pierre,  while  she  narrowly  scrutinized 
the  slight  figure  and  delicate,  ascetic  face  of  the  other  young 
priest.  The  mild  blue  eyes  met  hers  for  a  single  instant, 


34  The  House  of  de  Mailly 

then  dropped  uneasily,  as  their  owner  bowed  without  speak- 
ing, and  passed  over  to  a  small  sofa,  where,  after  a  second's 
hesitation,  he  sat  down.  St.  Pierre,  who  seemed  to  cher- 
ish some  anxiety  as  to  his  new  protege's  conduct,  followed 
and  remained  beside  him. 

"Unused  to  the  boudoir,  one  would  imagine.  It  is  un- 
usual for  one  of  his  order.  I  am  astonished  that  St.  Pierre 
should  have  brought  him  to  make  a  debut  before  you," 
observed  de  G£vres  to  la  Chateauroux,  who  had  not  yet 
removed  her  eyes  from  the  new  priest. 

"St.  Pierre  knows  my  fondness  for  fresh  faces,"  she  re- 
plied, indifferently,  picking  up  a  mirror  to  examine  the 
coiffure,  just  as  her  lackey  entered  the  room  with  small 
glasses  of  negus,  which  were  passed  among  the  party. 

While  de  Coigny  raised  a  glass  to  his  lips  he  turned 
towards  Devries.  "  You  have  spent  all  your  time  in  Fon- 
tainebleau,  M.  Devries?"  he  asked,  seriously. 

"By  no  means,  monsieur,"  was  the  answer,  given  in  a 
light  tenor  voice.  "  Indeed,  for  the  last  two  weeks  1  have 
been  working  in  Paris." 

"Working!  And  what,  if  my  curiosity  is  not  distaste- 
ful to  you,  is  your  work?"  queried  madame,  still  toying 
with  the  mirror. 

"By  all  means,"  murmured  de  Ge*vres,  comfortably, 
after  finishing  his  mild  refreshment,  "  let  us  hear  of  some 
work.  It  soothes  one's  nerves  inexpressibly." 

Devries'  blue  eyes  turned  slowly  till  they  rested  on  the 
slender  figure  of  the  Duke,  clad  in  his  gray  satin  suit,  his 
white  hands  half  hidden  in  lace,  toying  with  a  silver  snuff- 
box. The  eyes  gleamed  oddly,  half  with  amusement,  half 
with  something  else — weariness? — disgust? — surely  it  was 
not  ennui ;  and  yet — in  an  avowed  courtier,  that  was  what 
the  look  would  have  seemed  to  express. 

"  1  will,  then,  soothe  your  nerves,  if  you  wish  it,  sir.  My 
work  certainly  was  very  real.  For  the  past  two  weeks 
my  abode  has  been  in  the  Faubourg  St.  Antoine,  but  my 
days  were  spent  in  a  very  different  part  of  the  city.  At 
dawn  each  morning,  in  company  with  my  colleague — 


The    Toilet  35 

not  M.  de  St.  Pierre,  here  —  I  left  behind  those  houses 
whose  inmates  rejoiced  in  clothes  to  cover  themselves,  in 
money  enough  to  purchase  a  bone  for  soup  daily,  and  who 
were  even  sometimes  able  to  give  away  a  piece  of  black 
bread  to  a  beggar.  These  luxurious  places  we  left,  I  say, 
and  together  descended  into  hell.  It  might  amuse  you 
still  more,  monsieur,  to  behold  the  alleys,  the  courts,  the 
kennels,  the  holes  filled  with  living  filth  into  the  midst  of 
which  we  went.  There  women  disfigure  or  cripple  their 
children  for  life  in  order  to  give  them  a  means  of  livelihood, 
that  they  may  become  successful  beggars;  there  wine  is 
not  heard  of,  but  alcohol  is  far  commoner  than  bread; 
there  you  may  buy  souls  for  a  quart  of  brandy,  but  must 
deliver  your  own  into  their  keeping  if  you  have  not  the 
wherewithal  to  appease,  for  a  moment,  their  hatred  of  you, 
who  are  clean,  who  are  fed,  who  are  warm.  Cleanliness 
down  there  is  a  crime.  Ah!  how  they  hate  you,  those 
dwellers  in  the  Hell  of  Earth!  How  they  hate  us,  and  how 
they  curse  God  for  the  lives  they  must  lead!  The  name 
of  God  is  never  used  except  in  oaths.  And  yet  a  girl,  whose 
dying  child  1  washed,  knew  how  to  bless  me  one  day  there. 
It  seems  to  me  that  they  might  all  learn  how,  if  opportunity 
were  but  given  them.  There  has  been  some  bitter  weather 
lately,  when  the  frozen  Seine  has  been  a  highway  for  trades- 
people. Those  creatures  among  whom  1  went  make  no 
change  from  their  summer  toilets,  gentlemen.  Half — all 
the  children — are  quite  naked.  The  women  have  one  gar- 
ment, and  their  hair.  The  men  are  clad  in  blouses,  with 
perhaps  a  pair  of  sabots,  if  they  can  fight  well  to  obtain 
them,  or  are  ready  to  do  murder  without  a  qualm  to  keep 
them  in  their  possession.  It  is  among  these  people  that  1 
worked,  Monsieur — de  Ge"vres — with  my  colleague." 

"How  eminently  disgusting!"  replied  the  Duke,  calmly 
but  his  remark  was  not  pleasing  to  the  rest  of  those  present, 
who  had  been  actually  affected  by  the  desc-ription.  Henri 
de  Mailly  had  risen  to  his  feet,  and,  after  a  moment's  pause, 
asked,  rather  harshly,  "  Who  was  your  colleague,  mon- 
sieur?" 


36  The  House   of  de  Mailly 

The  Marquis  de  Coigny  shot  a  quick,  warning  glance  at 
Henri,  and  raised  his  hand.  "  Monsieur  PAbbe,  1  am  inter- 
ested in  your  story.  Would  you  do  me  the  honor  to  break- 
fast with  me  this  morning,  and  tell  me  more  of  this  life?" 

The  little  audience  stared,  and  la  Chateauroux  lifted  her 
head  rather  haughtily.  Devries  appeared,  for  some  rea- 
son, to  be  very  much  amused. 

"You  are  too  good,  Monsieur  le  Marquis.  I  have  al- 
ready partaken  of  my  morning  crust.  Besides,  you, 
doubtless,  are  happy  enough  to  be  daily  in  the  company 
of  Mme.  de  Chateauroux;  while  1,  monsieur,  am  a  poor 
priest,  not  often  admitted  to  the  dwellings  of  the  highest." 
He  rolled  his  eyes  towards  the  figure  of  the  Duchess,  who 
was  becoming  visibly  gracious  under  the  effect  of  this 
slight  compliment. 

"  You  are  not,  then,  a  sharer  of  the  opinions  of  those  poor 
creatures  amongst  whom  you  have  worked,  and  who,  as 
you  truthfully  suggest,  have  some  little  cause  to  hate  us, 
who  have  so  much  more  in  life  than  they?"  queried  Maure- 
pas,  with  the  interest  of  a  Minister  of  the  Interior. 

"No,  monsieur,  assuredly  I  have  no  feeling  of  enmity 
towards  the  nobility  of  France.  1  should  have  no  right. 
You  see,  1  know  very — very  lit — "  Suddenly  Devries  caught 
the  eyes  of  St.  Pierre  fixed  on  him  in  so  curious  a  glance 
that  he  was  forced  to  stop  speaking.  His  mouth  began 
to  twitch  at  the  corners.  He  shook  with  an  inward  spasm, 
and  finally  lay  back  upon  the  sofa,  emitting  peal  after  peal 
of  silvery,  feminine  laughter. 

"  Victorine!"  cried  the  Duchess,  starting  from  her  chair. 
"  Victorine,  you  madcap !  So  you  have  come  back  again \" 

"Mme.  de  Coigny  insisted,"  murmured  St.  Pierre,  un- 
certain of  his  position. 

The  rest  of  the  gentlemen  sat  perfectly  still,  staring  at 
the  little  Marquise,  and  trying,  out  ol  some  sense  of  pro- 
priety or  gallantry,  to  keep  from  joining  in  her  infectious 
laughter.  Only  Henri  de  Mailly  sat  near  a  window,  his 
head  on  his  fist,  staring  gloomily  out  upon  the  barren, 
stone-paved  court. 


The   Toilet  37 

"My  dear  madame  \"  cried  Maurepas,  when  she  had 
grown  tearful  with  laughter,  "your  disclosure  has  done 
me  an  excellent  turn.  It  has  saved  me  five  hundred  livres. 
1  was  about  thus  to  impoverish  myself  that  you  might  be 
permitted  to  get  still  closer  to  heaven  by  spending  another 
week  in  the  criminal  quarter  distributing  them." 

The  Marquise  de  Coigny  grew  suddenly  serious  again. 
"M.  de  Maurepas,  let  me  take  you  at  your  word.  1  beg 
that  you  will  send  the  money  to  him  who  was  my  compan- 
ion in  the  work — 1'Abbe  de  Bernis." 

"Oh! — Francois  de  Bernis?"  asked  St.  Pierre,  in  quick 
surprise.  "I  have  met  him  at  the  Vincent  de  Paul." 

"  Her  Majesty,  I  believe,  receives  him  at  times  into  her 
most  religious  coterie,"  put  in  de  Maurepas. 

"  Well,  since  you  know  who  he  is,  1  will  continue,  if  you 
will  permit  me.  1  beg  that  you  will  all,  at  least,  believe 
that  what  1  have  said  concerning  my  occupation  in  Paris 
was  wholly  serious.  Indeed,  indeed,  1  am  in  the  highest 
sympathy  with  the  work  of  the  Jesuit  fathers  among  the 
people;  and  there  are  few  men  in  our  world  whom  1  —  re- 
spect— as  1  do  M.  de  Bernis." 

At  these  words,  so  solemnly  spoken  that  they  could  not 
but  impress  the  listeners  with  their  sincerity,  the  eye- 
brows of  St.  Pierre  went  up  with  surprise,  though  he  re- 
mained silent.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  reputation  of  the 
Abb£  Francois  Joachim  de  Pierre  de  Bernis  was  not  noted 
for  its  sanctity. 

"Will  you,  then,  permit  me,  madame,  to  double  my 
first  offer?"  said  de  Maurepas,  with  his  mind  on  the  treas- 
ury. "1  will  to-day  send  you  a  note  for  one  thousand 
livres,  which  I  beg  that  you  will  dispense  in  charity." 

"  M.  de  Maurepas,  1  wish  that  you  could  imagine  what 
your  word  will  mean  to  those  poor  creatures." 

"  And  shall  you  yourself  return  to  Paris  with  the  money, 
madame?"  inquired  de  Gevres,  smiling  slightly. 

De  Coigny  moved  as  though  he  would  speak,  but  his 
wife  answered  immediately,  in  his  stead:  "No,  Mon- 
sieur le  Due.  I  have  no  intention  of  taking  permanently 


38  The  House   of  de  Mailly 

to  a  black  gown.  For  two  weeks  it  has  occupied  me  satis- 
factorily to  attend  the  poor.  Now  1  shall  come  back  to 
Court  till  1  am  again  fatigued  by  all  of  you.  After  that 
I  must  devise  a  new  amusement.  Really — you  all  know 
my  one  eternal  vow :  1  will  not  become  successor  to  Mme. 
du  Deffant.  Death,  if  you  like, — never  such  ennui  as 
hers.  M.  de  Mailly-Nesle,  will  you  give — " 

She  did  not  finish.  Henri  had  sprung  quickly  to  his 
feet,  but  de  Coigny  was  before  him.  "  Pardon,  Monsieur 
le  Marquis,"  said  he,  with  great  courtesy,  "will  you  allow 
me,  to-day,  instead.  To-morrow  I  shall  once  more  re- 
linquish all  to  you." 

De  Mailly-Nesle  could  not,  in  reason,  refuse  the  request, 
though  it  was  against  the  conventions.  He  merely  bowed 
as  husband  and  wife,  having  variously  saluted  la  Chateau- 
roux  and  the  rest  of  the  company,  passed  together  out 
of  the  boudoir. 

"Mme.  Victorine's  eccentricity  and  her  terror  of  being 
bored  are  excellent  things.  The  husband  seems  to  fall 
in  love  with  her  more  violently  than  ever  after  each  ad- 
venture." 

"Ah,  Madame  la  Marquise  is  too  charming  to  be  any- 
thing but  successful  everywhere.  Really,  Henri,  you  and 
de  Bernis — " 

Henri,  angry  at  the  first  word,  turned  upon  the  Duke: 
"Monsieur,  1  would  inform  you  that  Mme.  de  Coigny  is — " 

"Oh  yes,  yes,  yes!  Pardon  me/'  de  Gevres  rose,  "I 
understand  perfectly  that  Mme.  Victorine  is  the  most  vir- 
tuous, as  she  is  the  most  charming,  of  women.  Madame 
la  Duchesse,  1  have  been  with  you  seemingly  but  one  mo- 
ment, and  yet  an  hour  has  passed.  His  Majesty  will  be 
receiving  the  little  entries.  1  bid  you  au  revoir." 

The  Duchess  held  out  her  hand.  The  courtier  kissed 
it,  bowed  to  the  three  remaining  men,  and  gracefully  left 
the  boudoir.  When  the  door  shut  behind  him  a  breath 
of  fresher  air  crept  through  the  room.  Mailly-Nesle, 
who  had  been  restlessly  pacing  round  and  round  among 
the  tables  and  chairs,  paused.  De  Maurepas  drew  a 


The    Toilet  39 

tabouret  to  madame's  side,  and  began  to  talk  with  her  in 
the  intimate  and  inimitably  dignified  manner  that  was 
his  peculiar  talent.  St.  Pierre  was  thoughtfully  regard- 
ing nothing,  when  Henri  approached  and  sat  down  beside 
him.  Just  as  they  began  to  speak  together,  Marchon 
stepped  back  a  little  from  the  chair  of  la  Chateauroux. 

"Madame,"  he  cried,  "the  coiffure  is  finished." 

At  the  same  instant  the  door  to  the  antechamber  again 
flew  open.  "  The  Comte  de  Mailly !"  announced  the  valet. 

There  was  a  second's  pause  and  Claude  ran  into  the 
room.  "My  dear  cousin!"  he  cried,  buoyantly,  hurrying 
towards  her. 

Mme.  de  Chateauroux  rose  slowly  from  her  place,  stared 
at  the  new-comer  for  an  instant  with  the  insolence  which 
only  an  insulted  woman  can  use,  then  deliberately  turned 
her  back  and  moved  across  the  room.  Maurepas  was 
already  on  his  feet,  and  now,  seizing  his  opportunity, 
he  bowed  to  the  woman,  indicated  Henri  and  the  abbe" 
in  his  glance,  passed  Claude  with  the  barest  recognition, 
and  left  the  room  congratulating  himself  on  his  adroit 
escape  before  the  storm.  Mailly-Nesle  and  St.  Pierre  sat 
perfectly  still  for  an  instant  out  of  astonishment.  Then, 
happily,  the  abbe*  came  to  himself,  rose,  repeated  the 
performance  of  the  minister,  and  hastened  from  the  un- 
pleasantness. The  instant  that  he  was  gone  Claude 
broke  his  crimsoning  silence  in  a  somewhat  tremulous 
voice : 

"Name  of  God,  Marie,  what  have  1  done?" 

Madame  was  at  her  dressing-table.  Picking  up  a  small 
mirror,  she  retouched  her  left  cheek. 

"Marie,"  said  Henri,  gently,  "it  is  but  fair  that  you 
let  him  know  his  fault." 

A  shiver  of  anger  passed  over  the  frame  of  la  Cha- 
teauroux. Then,  suddenly  whirling  about  till  she  faced 
Claude,  she  whispered,  harshly :  "  My  gauntlet,  Monsieur 
le  Comte;  my  white  gauntlet!  Return  it  to  me!" 

Again  Claude  flushed,  wretchedly,  while  his  cousin 
spoke :  "  He  has  it  not  to  return,  Marie/' 


40  The  House   of  de  Mailly 

She  turned  then  upon  her  brother.  "  So  you,  also,  know 
this  insult,  and  you  counsel  me  to — let  him  know  his  fault ! 
Ah,  but  your  school  of  gallantry  was  fine!" 

"This  insult!"  repeated  Claude,  stupidly. 

" Fool!     Do  you  think  1  do  not  know  it?" 

Count  and  Marquis  alike  stood  perfectly  still,  staring 
at  each  other. 

"Your  innocence  is  awkwardly  done,"  commented 
madame.  "Show  me  the  price,  Monsieur  Claude,  for 
which  you  sold  my  gage." 

"Price!"  echoed  Henri,  angrily.  But  Claude  drew  a 
long  breath. 

"  Ah!  Now  1  begin,  1  but  begin,  to  understand.  Which 
was  it  that  came  to  tell  the  story,  madame?  Was  it  d'Eper- 
non,  or  G£vres,  or  Richelieu  who  twisted  the  account  of 
a  forced  act  into  one  of  voluntary  avarice?" 

The  favorite  shrugged.  "Charming  words!  I  make 
you  my  compliments  on  your  heroic  air.  Will  you,  then, 
confront  M.  de  G£vres  before  me?" 

"Most  willingly,  madame!  Afterwards,  by  the  good 
God,  I'll  run  him  through." 

La  Chateauroux  bent  her  head,  and  there  was  silence 
till  she  lifted  it  again  to  face  her  young  cousin.  His  eyes 
answered  her  penetrating  glance  steadily,  eagerly,  honest- 
ly. And  thereupon  madame  began  to  turn  certain  matters 
over  in  her  mind.  She  was  no  novice  in  Court  intrigue; 
neither  had  she  any  great  faith  to  break  with  de  Gevres. 
It  was  a  long  moment;  but  when  it  ended,  the  storm  was 
over. 

"How  did  it  happen,  Claude?" 

"1  gave  the  gauntlet  to  the  King,  when,  man  to  man, 
he  was  beaten  at  dice." 

"  You  received  nothing  in  return?" 

Claude  was  uncomfortable,  but  he  did  not  hesitate. 
"Yes,"  he  said,  with  lowered  eyes.  "1  have  brought  it 
to  you.  I  hate  it.'' 

From  one  of  the  great  pockets  in  the  side  of  his  coat  he 
drew  a  small,  flat  box,  which  he  handed  to  his  cousin. 


The    Toi  let  41 

She  received  it  in  silence,  opened  it,  and  gazed  upon  the 
royal  star.  The  frown  had  settled  again  over  her  face. 
Suddenly,  with  a  quick  impulse,  she  pulled  open  one  of 
the  small  windows  which  looked  down  upon  the  Court  of 
Marbles. 

"Claude,  take  this  and  throw  it  out  —  there,"  she  com- 
manded. 

De  Mailly  was  at  her  side  in  two  steps.  Eagerly  he 
seized  the  jewels  and  flung  them,  with  angry  satisfaction, 
far  out  upon  the  stones.  La  Chateauroux  looked  at  him 
quizzically  for  an  instant,  then  suddenly  held  out  both 
hands  to  him.  He  did  not  fall  upon  his  knee,  as  a  courtier 
should  have  done ;  but  threw  his  arms  triumphantly  about 
her  and  bent  his  powdered  head  over  hers. 

"Urn,"  muttered  Henri,  indistinctly,  "methinks  1  would 
better  go  and  seek  the  fallen  star." 


CHAPTER    III 

The  Gallery  of  Mirrors 

HE  1 6th  of  January  fell  on  a  Saturday,  on 
the  evening  of  which  day  the  King  held  his 
usual  weekly  assembly  in  the  formal  halls 
of  the  palace.  These  affairs  were  not  loved 
by  Louis,  whose  tastes  ran  in  more  unosten- 
tatious directions;  but  they  were  a  part  of  his  inherit- 
ance, coming  to  him  with  the  throne,  his  hour  of  getting 
up  in  the  morning,  and  the  national  debt ;  so  he  made  no 
audible  murmur,  and  ordinarily  presented  a  resplendent 
appearance  arid  a  dignified  sulkiness  on  these  occasions. 
It  was  his  custom  to  enter  the  Hall  of  Battles  or  the  Gallery 
of  Mirrors,  in  company  with  his  consort,  between  half-past 
eight  and  nine  o'clock.  Since  no  courtier  was  supposed 
to  make  his  entrance  after  the  King,  the  great  rooms  were 
generally  thronged  at  an  early  hour,  and  the  first  dance 
began  at  nine  precisely. 

At  a  quarter  to  seven  on  this  particular  Saturday,  four 
candles  burned  in  the  Gallery  of  Mirrors,  and  their  petty 
light  made  of  that  usually  magnificent  place  a  shadowy, 
dreary  gulf  of  gloom.  Ordinarily,  at  this  hour,  the  salon 
was  deserted.  To-night,  it  appeared,  one  individual  was 
unhappy  enoiigh  to  find  the  place  harmonious  with  his 
mood.  This  solitaire,  who  had  twice  paced  the  length  of 
the  hall,  finally  seated  himself  on  a  tabouret  with  his  back 
to  the  wall,  and,  leaning  his  head  against  a  mirror,  gave 
himself  up  to  some  decidedly  uncomfortable  thoughts.  It 
was  Claude  de  Mailly  who  was  young  enough  and  unwise 
enough  to  surrender  himself  to  his  mood  in  such  a  place, 
at  such  an  hour.  Only  late  in  life  does  the  courtier  learn 


The  Gallery    of  Mirrors  43 

how  dangerous  a  thing  is  melancholy.  Claude  had  not 
come  to  this  yet;  and  for  that  reason,  through  one  long 
hour,  he  remained  in  darkness,  meditating  upon  a  situa- 
tion which  he  could  not,  or,  more  properly,  would  not,  help. 
For  Claude's  eyes  were  well  open  to  the  precarious  position 
into  which  he  had  got  himself ;  they  were  open  even  to  his 
more  than  possible  fall.  Nor  was  he  ignorant  of  the  di- 
rection in  which  salvation  lay — the  instant  bending  to 
Louis'  wishes,  repudiation  of  the  favorite,  and  devotion  to 
some  other  woman.  But,  to  his  honor  be  it  said,  Claude 
de  Mailly  was  deeply  enough  in  love  and  loyal  enough  by 
nature  to  scorn  the  very  contemplation  of  such  action.  He 
could  not  see  very  far  into  the  future.  He  dared  not  try  to 
pierce  the  veil  that  hid  the  to-come  from  him.  He  would 
not  think  of  consequences.  Perhaps  he  was  not  capable 
of  imagining  them;  for,  to  him,  life  and  Versailles  were 
synonymous  terms,  and  the  world  beyond  was  space. 

His  vague  and  varied  meditations  were  broken  in  upon 
by  the  appearance  of  eight  lackeys,  who  had  come  to  light 
the  room  for  the  evening.  Claude  rose  from  his  place  and 
slipped  away  by  a  side-door.  He  had  nothing  to  do,  no- 
where in  particular  to  go.  The  (Eil-de-Bceuf  would  be 
deserted.  The  Court  was  dressing.  An  hour  before,  dis- 
mal with  the  loneliness  of  the  gray  sky  and  the  falling 
snow,  he  had  left  his  rooms  in  Versailles.  He  was 
dressed  for  the  evening,  but  had  had  nothing  to  eat  since 
the  dinner  hour.  An  idea  came  to  him  presently,  and 
he  bent  his  steps  in  the  direction  of  the  Staircase  of  the 
Ambassadors.  At  the  head  of  this,  on  the  second  floor, 
he  halted,  knocking  at  a  well-known  door.  It  was  opened 
after  a  moment  by  a  well-known  lackey.  Claude  thrust 
a  coin  into  the  man's  hand,  and  passed  out  of  the  ante- 
chamber, through  a  half -lighted  salon,  and  into  the  Persian 
boudoir  where  sat  Mme.  de  Chateauroux  and  Victorine 
de  Coigny,  comfortably  taking  tea  &  I'anglaise  together, 
and  talking  as  only  women,  and  women  of  an  unholy  but 
very  entertaining  Court,  can  talk.  The  little  Marquise 
was  dressed  for  the  assembly.  The  duchess  was  coiffed. 


44  The  House  of  de  Mailly 

patched,  and  rouged,  but  en  neglige.  She  rose  nervously 
at  Claude's  entrance. 

"Claude!  Claude!     How  unceremonious  you  are!" 

"And  did  you  hear  what  we  were  saying  of  you,  mon- 
sieur?" asked  Victorine,  smiling  mischievously,  as  she 
gave  him  her  hand. 

"Fortunately  for  my  vanity,  madame,  no,"  he  returned, 
bending  over  it ;  then,  at  her  ripple  of  laughter,  he  crossed 
to  his  cousin,  took  her  proffered  fingers,  but,  instead  of 
kissing  them,  seized  them  in  both  his  hands,  clasped  them 
close  to  his  breast,  and  looked  searchingly  into  her  eyes. 

"Anne,  Anne,  1  have  suffered  so!"  he  murmured.  "I 
wonder — if  you  care?" 

Mme.  de  Coigny  sprang  up.  "  At  least,  monsieur,  give 
me  time  to  retire !  Your  ardor  is  so  remarkable ! " 

The  Duchess  laughed  and  gently  withdrew  her  hand  from 
Claude's  grasp.  She  was  in  excellent  spirits.  Never  had 
she  passed  a  more  uniformly  successful  week  at  Court  than 
the  one  just  ending.  If  she  had  purchased  much  royal  de- 
votion, and  much  toadyism  from  hitherto  lofty  personages 
at  Claude's  expense,  why — that  was  Claude's  affair.  His 
career  was  not  in  her  keeping ;  but  she  could,  and  did,  treat 
him  very  amiably  in  private  for  the  sake  of  the  fierce  jeal- 
ousy which  he  was  inspiring  in  her  royal  lover.  It  was 
one  of  her  cleverest  manoeuvres,  one  that  had  been  tried 
before,  this  playing  some  quite  insignificant  little  person 
against  Louis  of  France ;  for  the  King  was  ardently  in  love 
for  the  first  time,  and  had  not  yet  grown  old  in  the  knowl- 
edge of  woman's  ways. 

"Come,  Claude,"  entreated  madame,  "sit  here,  and  take 
at  least  one  dish  of  this  charming  beverage.  And  the  pat- 
ties are  by  Mouthier  himself.  You  must  taste  them;  and 
Mme.  de  Coigny  shall  entertain  you,  while  mv  dress  is  put 
on." 

He  accepted  the  invitation  readily  enough,  seated  him- 
self at  the  little  table,  and  began  an  attack  on  Mouthier's 
patties  with  such  good-will  that  Mme.  de  Coigny  held  up 
her  hands. 


The   Gallery    of  Mirrors  45 


"  Ciel,  Monsieur  le  Comte !  Do  you  protest  that  you  are 
a  lover,  with  such  an  appetite?  Tis  more  worthy  the 
Court  of  Miracles  1" 

Claude  put  down  his  tea.  "  Ah,  madame — the  Court  of 
Miracles !  Do  you  know  that  for  the  last  days  I  have  heard 
nothing  on  every  side  but  conversations  about  the  last  ex- 
periment of  the  Marquise  de  Coigny  ?  Ma3^  1  ask  if  it  proved 
a  really  successful  remedy  for  your  deplorable  ennui?" 

Mme.  de  Coigny  slightly  smiled.  "  Indeed,  monsieur,  its 
efficacy  was  but  too  great.  At  the  time,  I  was  in  a  dream 
of  pity  and  of — happiness.  Since  my  return,  my  wretched- 
ness is  greater  than  ever  before.  Pouf!  How  can  you 
bear  the  air  of  this  hideous  place?  It  stifles!  It  poisons! 
It  kills!" 

"1  hear,"  remarked  Mme.  de  Chateauroux,  from  her 
toilet  table,  "  that  Griffet  will,  in  a  few  days,  formally  pre- 
sent Monsieur  1'Abbe  de  Bernis  to  her  Majesty  as  eligible 
to  the  post  of  third  chaplain  to  the  Dauphin.  Now,  if  it 
were  desirable,  it  is  possible  that  the  King  might  " —  she 
touched  an  eyebrow — "might  be  prevailed  upon  to  ask 
him  to  supper  with  the  royal  family." 

Victorine  de  Coigny  moved  uneasily,  and  Claude  noted, 
from  beneath  his  lids,  that  a  sudden  color,  which  did  not 
quite  match  the  rouge,  had  started  into  her  face.  "  Do  not 
jest,  Marie,"  she  murmured,  half  to  herself. 

"  Oh,  it  is  quite  a  possibility,  my  dear !  If  you  ask  it,  I 
will — give  him  a  salon  here  on  a  Tuesday  evening.  Will 
that  please  you?  You  will  be  able,  then,  to — " 

Victorine  sprang  nervously  to  her  feet.  "  Good  Heaven, 
Marie!  Do  you  not  know  that  M.  de  Bernis  considers 
me  a  man?  How  could  you  dream  that  I  would  wish 
him  to  know  my  sex?  I — I  beg  of  you — do  not  let  me 
meet  him  here,  or — or — if  I  should,  at  least  you  must 
disclose  nothing.  It  would  be  too  mortifying." 

Mme.  de  Chateauroux  paused  in  the  manipulation  of 
her  gown  to  look  at  her  friend.  Never  before  had  she 
beheld  Victorine  de  Coigny  in  confusion;  never  had  she 
seen  her  betray  the  smallest  sign  of  emotion  about  any 


46  The  House   of  de  Mailly 

thing  or  person.  Claude  also  regarded  her  with  unfeigned 
interest.  Presently  he  turned  slowly  to  his  cousin. 

"Madame,"  he  said,  softly,  "why  will  you  not  make 
a  pilgrimage  with  me  into  the  Court  of  Miracles?" 

"Dear  Claude,"  she  answered,  smiling  dreamily,  "when 
1  go  there,  I  must  carry  with  me  only  an  image  of — the 
King." 

And,  while  Claude  colored  with  displeasure,  Victorine 
turned  her  head  to  hide  an  irrepressible  smile. 

By  this  time  the  candles  in  the  great  gallery  were  all 
lighted,  and  the  mirrors  reflected  the  brilliant  colors  of  a 
richly  costumed  and  continually  increasing  throng  that 
passed  and  repassed  in  endless  procession  before  them. 
No  woman  here  was  untitled ;  few  of  the  men  had  less  than 
five,  and  many  had  twenty,  generations  of  unsmirched 
aristocracy  behind  them.  Many  were  there  who  did  not 
own  the  clothes  upon  their  backs ;  and  many  others  whose 
debts  would  have  impoverished  a  half-dozen  of  the  wealthi- 
est of  the  bourgeoisie.  Yet  few  ever  went  abroad  with 
an  empty  pocket;  and  money  was  generally  their  last 
source  of  worry.  Here  passed  the  Marquis  de  Sauvre", 
a  member  of  the  King's  intimate  circle,  a  page  of  the  Court, 
whose  estates  were  mortgaged,  and  whose  Paris  hotel 
was  almost  dismantled  of  furniture,  in  an  unpaid-for  dress 
of  cherry  -  and  -  white  satin,  with  pearls  worth  fifty  thou- 
sand livres  on  him,  arm  in  arm  with  M.  de  la  Popliniere, 
a  farmer-general,  worth  forty  millions,  but  not  attired 
with  half  the  extravagance  of  his  companion.  In  a  cor- 
ner, taking  snuff,  and  commenting  on  the  degeneracy 
of  the  grand  manner  since  the  last  reign,  were  the  old 
Due  de  Charost,  who  had  attached  himself  to  the  Queen 
and  the  religious  party;  the  Due  de  Duras,  who  lived 
on  the  influence  of  his  wife's  implacable  etiquette;  and 
M.  de  Pont-de-Vesle,  a  successful  diplomatist  in  a  small 
way,  and  the  most  disagreeably  ubiquitous  man  at  Court. 
Opposite  them  the  Marquis  d'Entragues,  a  man  whose 
scutcheon  had  come  into  existence  two  hundred  years  be- 
fore, beginning  with  a  bar  sinister  to  the  discredit  of  a 


The   Gallery    of  Mirrors  47 

certain  King  of  France,  and  M.  Marchais,  at  whose  hotel 
could  be  found  the  best  vin  d'Ai  in  the  kingdom,  and 
who  was  a  favorite  with  Louis  on  that  account,  were  dis- 
cussing, with  the  Comtesse  d'Estrades,  the  pompous  in- 
trigues of  Mine,  de  Grammont.  Every  one  waited,  more 
or  less  eagerly,  first,  for  the  appearance  of  the  favorite; 
secondly,  for  the  arrival  of  the  King.  i 

"It  is  half -past  eight,"  remarked  de  Coign}?-  to  Charost, 
whose  group  he  had  just  joined.  "I  am  unable  to  dis- 
cover madame,  my  wife.  She  must  be  with  Mme.  de 
Chateauroux,  who,  by-the-way,  is  late." 

"The  Duchess  is  actually  more  haughty  than  la  Mon- 
tespan  was,"  returned  the  old  Duke.  "The  Fourteenth 
Louis  showed  less  indulgence  than  his  present  Majesty." 

"  Possibly.  But  where  is  the  favorite  of  the  old  Court 
with  the  presence,  the  magnificence,  the  carriage  of  the 
present  Duchess?"  cried  Duras,  popularly. 

"Quite  so,"  murmured  Pont  -  de  -  Vesle,  rubbing  his 
chin. 

"Well — yes.  She  has,  perhaps,  the  manner,"  admitted 
Charost,  unwillingly. 

"And  she  is  here!"  cried  de  Coigny. 

"Ah!  What  a  carriage!  What  a  glance!  What  a 
toilet!"  cried  Duras,  rapturously. 

"  It  is  not  difficult  to  perceive  that  she  means,  at  all 
events,  to  wreck  her  cousin  as  she  did  the  little  d'Agenois." 

"It  is  de  Mailly's  own  fault,  then.  He  is  mad,  to  be- 
tray such  devotion.  One  would  never  believe  that  he  had 
been  brought  up  at  Court." 

"  You  are  quite  right,  M.  de  Charost.  Such  honesty  and 
truth  as  his  are  absurdities  that  we  do  not  often  discover 
here,"  observed  de  Coigny,  shrugging  his  shoulders. 

The  Duchess,  handed  by  Claude,  whose  eyes  were 
fastened  on  her,  followed  by  Victorine  and  Henri  de  Mailly- 
Nesle,  was  entering  the  salon.  The  perfumed  crowd, 
half  unconsciously,  drew  back  a  little  on  either  side  to 
make  a  way  for  her  as  they  did  for  the  King.  Her  bear- 
ing was  certainly  royal.  The  heavy  velvet  of  her  robe, 


48  The  House    of  de  Mailly 

with  its  glittering  silver  fern-leaves,  swept  about  her  like  a 
coronation  mantle.  Her  breast  glittered  with  a  mass  of 
diamonds,  and  in  her  hair  were  five  stars,  fastened  to- 
gether like  a  coronet.  She  was  turned  slightly  towards 
Claude,  and  noticed  no  one  till  he  had  finished  what  he 
was  saying  to  her,  so  that  all  had  time  to  note  the  manner 
of  her  entrance  and  the  details  of  the  costume.  Then, 
as  Richelieu  pressed  towards  her,  she  gently  dropped 
Claude's  hand  and  turned  aside. 

He  stood  still  for  a  moment  where  she  left  him,  till  he 
saw  her  quite  surrounded  with  men  and  women.  Then 
he  moved  away,  dreading  the  next  hour,  but  buoyed  up 
with  the  thought  of  a  promise  she  had  given  before  they 
left  her  apartments.  There  were  few  people  about  him 
whom  he  did  not  know,  and  he  bowed  continually  from  right 
to  left  as  he  walked  aimlessly  through  the  throng.  Oddly 
enough,  however,  as  it  seemed  to  him,  the  salutes  that 
were  returned  were  coldly  formal.  No  one  addressed 
him  beyond  a  chilly  "Good-evening,"  and  Mme.  de  Gram- 
mont  passed  by  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  some  distant  goal. 
Claude's  heart  was  beginning  to  throb  a  little,  and  he  could 
feel  the  color  surge  over  his  face.  Presently  there  was  a 
touch  upon  his  arm.  Quickly  he  turned  his  head.  M.  de 
Berryer  was  beside  him. 

"  Good  -  evening,  M.  de  Mailly.  Your  face  is  troubled. 
In  the  midst  of  such  a  scene  the  expression  is  unusual. 
Am  I  impertinent  to  ask  if  I  can  be  of  service?" 

Claude  gave  the  man  a  quick  and  searching  glance. 
"Yes,"  he  said,  after  a  pause,  "you  can  tell  me,  if  you 
will,  your  idea  as  to  why  1  am  in  disfavor  with — all  these. 
And,  also,  if  you  will,  answer  this  question :  is  my  present 
position  dangerous?" 

They  had  drawn  a  little  to  one  side  of  the  greatest  press 
while  Claude  spoke.  De  Berryer  stopped  an  instant  to 
think  before  he  replied;  but  when  he  did  so  it  was  evi- 
dently with  perfect  honesty. 

"My  dear  Count,  you  are  experiencing  these  little  and 
very  disagreeable  cuts,  in  my  opinion,  first,  because  of 


The  Gallery   of  Mirrors  49 

your  reckless  attentions  in  spite  of  his  Majesty's  open 
displeasure;  secondly,  because  of  an  unpleasant  mistake 
in  the  story  of  your  game  with  the  King  on  Tuesday  even- 
ing. The  first  matter  you  alone  can  rectify,  but  the  method 
is  simple.  In  the  second,  I  will  try  to  assist  you.  As  to 
the — possible  danger  of  your  position — well,  let  me  advise 
you  to — do  what  may  be  done  while  it  still  is  possible. 
Your  pardon.  Au  revoir." 

The  Chief  of  Police,  bowing  courteously,  turned  aside 
and  was  lost  in  the  crowd  before  Claude  could  say  anything 
further.  To  tell  the  truth,  the  last  words  had  nonplussed 
de  Mailly  not  a  little.  Presently,  however,  he  flung  up 
his  head,  and,  passing  his  hand  over  his  forehead,  mut- 
tered to  himself:  "You  may  be  right — God  knows  you 
may  be  right.  But  no  honest  man  gives  up  the  woman 
he  loves  because  his  rival  is  a  king.  And,  from  my  soul, 
I  believe  that  in  time  Marie  must  love  me  in  spite  of  all!" 
And  so  the  lights  grew  a  little  brighter  as  Claude  passed 
on  again  through  the  Gallery  of  Mirrors. 

It  was  a  quarter  to  nine,  and  the  company  grew  slightly 
bored.  In  three-quarters  of  an  hour  two  hundred  people 
can  easily  dispose  of  ten  new  scandals,  redigest  twenty 
ancient  ones,  and  anticipate  as  many  as  the  remaining 
minutes  will  permit.  But  undiluted  gossip,  spiced  with 
epigram  and  heated  with  wit  though  it  may  be,  grows 
nauseating  after  a  while,  if  taken  in  too  great  quantities ; 
and,  through  the  great  room,  to-night,  there  were  enough 
chronic  dispeptics  of  this  class  to  make  conversation  final- 
ly begin  to  lag.  The  abstract  murmur,  to  which  Claude 
was  moodily  listening,  changed  in  character.  Suddenly, 
as  the  cries  of  the  ushers  at  last  rang  out,  it  became  as 
present  wine  to  former  tepid  milk : 

"Mesdames,  messieurs,  their  Majesties!  Way  for  the 
King !  Way  for  the  Queen ! — Will  you  have  the  goodness 
to  move  just  here." 

The  four  royal  ushers,  with  their  white  staffs,  passed 
down  the  room,  forming  an  alley  for  the  passage  of  the 
King.  No  ribbons  were  used,  as  in  the  days  of  the  four- 
4 


50  The   House  of  de   Mailly 

teenth  Louis.  The  courtiers  were  better  trained  now. 
They  pressed  back  voluntarily  on  either  side,  leaving 
a  very  well-formed  lane  between  the  two  crowds.  A  quick 
silence  fell  over  the  room  and  the  circling  throng  was  still. 
Each  one  had  sought  the  company  in  which  he  or  she 
wished  to  stand.  For  none  knew  just  how  long  it  would 
take  his  Majesty  to  reach  the  other  end  of  the  room,  where 
he  would  open  the  first  minuet.  Claude,  by  a  series  of 
delicate  manoeuvres,  had  reached  the  side  of  Mme.  de 
Chateauroux,  and,  despite  the  silence,  found  opportunity 
to  whisper : 

"You  will  not  forget — that  you  have  promised  me  the 
first  dance?" 

And  the  favorite,  looking  into  her  cousin's  eyes,  felt, 
even  in  her  heartless  heart,  a  little  throb  of  pity  for  the 
utter  abandon  of  his  infatuation. 

"1  do  not  forget,  mon  cher.  But  thou  shouldst  have 
kept  away  from  me  till  the  progress  was  over." 

Claude  shrugged  and  smiled  happily. 

"Mesdames,  messieurs,  their  Majesties!" 

Two  more  ushers  entered  and  passed  rapidly  down  the 
aisle,  backward.  Louis  and  his  wife,  hand  in  hand, 
followed  after.  The  King  was,  as  usual,  magnificently 
dressed  and  glittering  with  jewels.  His  face,  however, 
was  as  unpropitious  as  possible.  He  wore  his  most  bored 
and  fretful  look,  and  he  walked  straight  down  the  room 
for  a  distance  of  twenty-five  feet,  heedless  of  his  wife, 
without  glancing  at  a  soul.  Marie  Leczinska,  on  the 
contrary,  carelessly  attired  in  a  costume  of  deep  brownish- 
red  brocade,  pale  of  face,  tired-eyed,  yet  wearing  a  curiously 
contented  look,  bowed  timidly  to  three  or  four  of  her  dames 
du  palais  and  some  of  her  abb6s,  who  had  the  grace  to 
return  the  salutes  with  a  show  of  respect  that  was  born 
of  pity.  The  company,  however,  quickly  felt  the  chill- 
ing breath  of  the  master's  ill-humor. 

"  Parbleu!"  muttered  de  Ge"vres  to  Richelieu,  as  they 
stood  together  at  the  far  end  of  the  gallery,  "madame 
herself  is  to  be  ignored  to-night." 


The  Gallery    of  Mirrors  51 


But  the  Duke  was  mistaken.  His  Majesty,  in  his  rapid 
walk,  had  seen  many  more  things  than  one  might  have 
imagined.  He  knew  that  Claude  was  beside  the  favor- 
ite, and  he  accurately  surmised  Claude's  intent.  There- 
fore, when  he  came  abreast  of  the  Duchess,  who  was  not 
in  the  front  row,  he  suddenly  stopped,  turned  his  head 
towards  her,  and  remarked,  in  a  perfectly  expressionless 
tone: 

"  Mme.  de  Chateauroux,  1  have  the  pleasure  of  opening 
the  dance  with  you  to-night." 

And  before  she  had  time  to  courtesy  her  thanks  he  had 
passed  on  again. 

"Ah,  de  Gevres,  take  note,"  murmured  Richelieu, 
cautiously,  "  'tis  two  forms  of  the  same  expression  that  her 
Majesty  and  Claude  de  Mailly  are  at  this  instant  wearing." 

"  You  are  right,  my  friend.  You  should  propose  some- 
thing of  the  sort  as  the  next  subject  for  the  competitive 
philosophical  essay  at  the  Academy." 

"With  whom  do  you  dance?" 

"  The  Princesse  d'H&iin.     And  you?" 

"1  am  going  to  bore  myself  for  appearances.  The 
Duchesse  de  Boufflers." 

"  Oh.  You  might  amuse  her,  then,  with  some  anecdotes 
of  your  past  sanctity." 

"She  knows  them  too  well.  She  will  merely  insist  on 
talking  to  me  of  the  frightful  improprieties  of  Mme. 
de  Coigny." 

"Oh,  by-the-way,  as  to  that,  1  hear  that  de  Bernis  did 
not  even  know  her  sex." 

"1  have  met  him  at  Mme.  Doublet's;  and  1  give  him 
credit  for  rather  more  brain  than  that." 

"Really?  In  that  case  I  must  take  the  affair  into  my 
repertoire.  M.  de  Mailly -Nesle  will  be  able  to  weep  in 
Claude's  company." 

"  Such  tears  appear  to  run  in  the  family.  You've  been 
rather  unkind  to  Claude  of  late — and,  moreover,  it  was 
dangerous  to  garble  the  story.  His  disfavor  with  la 
Chateauroux  certainly  did  not  last  long." 


52  The  House   of  de  Mailly 

"No — silly  boy!     Really,  Richelieu,   that  little  inven- 
tion should  have  done  him  a  good  turn.     If  the  Duchess 
had  refused  to  speak  to  him  for  a  week,  he  would  have  been 
saved .    As  it  is — um — 1  am  glad  that  my  position  is  not  his. " 
"Well,  au  revoir.     I  go  to  seek  my  dame  d' Etiquette." 
"Aurevoir.     But  oh !  Richelieu !     Remember,  when  you 
relate  the  tale,  that  it  is  not  only  from  the  affections  of 
Mailly  -  Nesle,  but  from  those  of  de  Coigny  himself,  that 
the  abbe  is  tearing  the  lady." 

"What!     Coigny  in  love  with  his  wife?" 
"Madly.     Only  it  is  with  the  most  delicate  unostenta- 
tion  in  the  world.     He  is  perfectly  comme  il  faut,  and  to 
general  eyes  devoted  still  to  Mme.  d'Egmont." 

"A  charming  romance.  Thank  you,  and  farewell." 
Richelieu  hurried  away,  and  de  Gevres  also  moved 
more  rapidly  than  was  his  wont  in  search  of  his  partner. 
While  the  hours  of  that  long  evening  passed,  the  emotions 
varied  with  them.  As  la  Chateauroux  had  her  triumph 
with,  so  had  her  cousin  his  revenge  upon,  the  King.  The 
third  dance — menuet  des  sabres — Louis  performed  with 
his  wife.  Under  cover  of  imitating  royalty,  de  Coigny 
sought  Victorine  for  his  companion.  Henri,  biting  his 
lips,  watched  de  Gevres  lead  madame  forth,  and  then, 
totally  indifferent  to  every  unengaged  woman  in  the 
room,  sought  out  his  Marquise,  who  left  M.  Trudaine  with 
a  little  laugh,  and  devoted  herself  prettily  to  the  husband 
with  whom  she  had,  as  she  said,  merely  a  casual  acquaint- 
ance. Meantime  the  King  was  frowning  furiously  on 
the  presumption  of  his  still  dauntless  rival.  For  Claude, 
in  the  face  of  a  dozen  competitors,  under  the  very  shadow 
of  a  warning  glance  from  de  Berryer,  which  unmistakably 
spelled  lettre  de  cachet,  had,  with  scarcely  so  much  as  a 
by -your -leave,  triumphantly  carried  his  cousin  off  from 
her  admirers  to  the  head  of  the  third  twenty,  and  proceeded 
to  make  two  wrong  steps  during  the  dance,  much  to  the 
amusement  of  la  Chateauroux  and  the  disgust  of  the 
King :  who,  though  France  were  tottering,  had  never  been 
guilty  of  such  a  misdemeanor. 


The  Gallery  of  Mirrors  53 

The  grand  supper,  which  began  at  midnight,  was  virt- 
ually ended  at  one  o'clock  by  the  departure  of  the  King; 
although  Mme.  de  Chateauroux,  at  Richelieu's  side,  still 
stayed  at  table,  and  the  Court,  from  curiosity,  remained 
with  her.  There  was  a  murmur,  whether  of  disappoint- 
ment or  surprise,  when  the  de  Mailly  cousins,  Henri  and 
Claude,  with  merely  the  customary  salutes,  passed  to- 
gether from  the  room.  Five  minutes  later  the  Duchess, 
refusing  escort,  departed  unattended,  and  the  lingering 
Court,  heartily  sick  of  its  own  dull  self,  bored,  sleepy,  with 
aching  eyes  and  feet,  rose  from  the  horseshoe  table,  and 
went  its  way  to  a  dubious  rest. 

For  an  hour  every  apartment  on  the  upper  floors  of  the 
palace  was  ablaze  with  light.  In  the  city  of  Versailles 
those  streets  which,  during  the  great  season,  were  the  abodes 
of  the  lesser  nobility,  were  still  alive  with  coaches,  chairs, 
and  link-boys ;  while  not  a  window  in  any  of  the  tall,  narrow 
houses  but  glowed  with  the  mild  fire  of  candles.  In  one 
of  these  streets,  the  Avenue  de  St.  Cloud,  within  the  build- 
ing called  by  its  owner  the  Chatelet  Persane,  in  half  the 
apartment  of  the  third  floor,  Claude  and  Henri  kept  rooms 
together.  Just  below  them,  more  luxurious  in  fashion  and 
less  in  content,  were  the  court  apartments  of  the  Marquis 
and  Marquise  de  Coigny. 

Victorine,  nearly  ready  for  the  night,  with  a  silken  ne- 
glige thrown  over  her  elaborate  white  gown,  sat  before  her 
dressing-table,  brushing  with  her  own  hands  the  clouds 
of  powder  from  her  dark  hair.  This  hair,  comparatively 
short,  according  to  the  dictates  of  fashion,  was  still  her 
only  claim  to  beauty.  Thus  at  night,  when  the  soft,  nat- 
ural curls  could  cluster  unreservedly  about  her  pale  face 
and  neck,  the  little  Marquise  was  far  prettier  than  in  the 
daytime.  She  was  not  beautiful  even  now.  The  mirror 
showed  her  a  delicate,  oval  face,  pallid  and  hollow-cheeked  ; 
two  abnormally  large  eyes,  that  were  green  and  weary- 
looking  to-night;  the  brows  above  them  lightly  marked, 
and  too  straight  to  harmonize  with  her  great  orbs;  a  nose 
delicate,  short,  and  tilted  piquantly  upward — a  feature 


54          The  House   of  de   Mailly 

more  worthy  of  a  coquettish  grisette  than  the  daughter  of 
one  of  the  oldest  families  in  France ;  and  a  mouth  indefinite, 
long,  pale,  sometimes  very  full  of  character,  that  would  have 
rendered  Boucher  and  the  miniature  painters  desperate. 

Victorine  had  sent  away  her  maid  as  soon  as  she  was 
ready  to  sit  down  quietly.  It  seemed  to  her  that,  sleepy 
as  the  girl  appeared,  she  would  be  able  to  read  too  much 
from  her  mistress's  face,  to  see  too  far  into  her  mind.  Be- 
sides this,  it  was  a  relief  to  be  alone.  During  the  strange 
month  which  she  had  just  lived,  Mme.  de  Coigny  had 
fallen  suddenly  in  love  with  freedom.  The  suffering  which 
she  was  enduring  from  bondage  was  the  penalty  she  paid 
for  her  reckless  wilfulness.  But  had  it  been  ennui  now, 
as  of  old,  under  which  she  chafed,  she  might  have  made 
further  effort  to  dispel  it  by  means  of  another  of  those  start- 
ling escapades  which,  since  she  had  amused  the  King  with 
one  of  them,  the  Court  had  become  reconciled  to.  This  was 
not  ennui,  then.  This,  she  thought  vaguely,  and  with 
a  kind  of  rebellion,  was  the  haunting  image  of  a  single 
person,  the  unchanging  recurrence  before  her  mental  eyes 
of  a  man's  face — the  face  of  Francois  de  Bernis,  as  she  had 
seen  it  first  a  month  since  at  Fontainebleau. 

The  brush  in  her  hand  had  almost  ceased  to  pass  over 
her  hair,  and  Victorine  was  staring  fixedly  into  the  mirror, 
without,  however,  seeing  herself.  Presently  the  door  to 
her  boudoir  swung  gently  open.  She  started  slightly  and 
turned  about  in  her  chair.  M.  de  Coigny,  her  husband, 
in  his  long  lounging-robe  of  green  and  gold,  stood  upon 
the  threshold.  She  regarded  him  silently.  He  hesitated 
for  a  moment,  and  then  asked,  deprecatingly : 

"Will  you  perhaps  be  so  gracious  as  to  permit  my  en- 
trance?" 

"Certainly,  Monsieur  le  Marquis,  if  it  is  your  wish." 

"I  thank  you." 

He  walked  lingeringly  into  the  delicate  little  place, 
and  seated  himself  at  some  distance  from  her,  upon  a 
small  chair.  Then  the  silence  fell  again,  lasting  several 
seconds.  Victorine  waited;  her  husband  was  nervously 


The   Gallery   of  Mirrors  55 

at  a  loss  for  words.  Finally,  seeing  that  she  did  not 
know  how  to  help  him,  he  began,  in  a  low,  impersonal 
tone: 

"Madame,  it  is  now  four  days  since  your  return  from 
your  little  journey  to  this  abode,  and — and  to  my  nominal 
protection.  During  the  month  in  which  your  place  of  re- 
treat was  unknown  to  me,  1  confess  to  having  experienced 
extreme  concern  for  your  welfare.  1  believe  that  1  have 
never  spoken  to  you  upon  the  subject  of  those  short  flights 
to  freedom  which,  from  time  to  time,  you  have  been  accus- 
tomed to  take,  in  order  to  overcome,  as  1  have  understood, 
your  always  unfortunate  tendency  towards  ennui.  This  one 
just  passed,  however,  having  been  of  so  much  longer  dura- 
tion than  usual,  1  have  taken  the  liberty  of  questioning 
your  old  servitor,  Jerome,  whom  you  were  so  wise  as  to 
take  with  you  as  attendant.  He  has  informed  me  that, 
so  far  as  he  has  been  able  to  determine,  your  conduct  as 
regards  any  of  my  sex  whom  you  chanced  to  encounter  in 
that  month,  was  eminently  reserved  and  dignified.  Upon 
this,  madame,  I  venture  to  congratulate  you.  1  have  come 
to  you  to-night,  however,  with  a  proposal  on  which  1  have 
meditated  carefully  for  some  weeks.  At  first  it  will  not  im- 
probably appear  to  you  to  be  too  unconventional  and  per- 
haps too  uninteresting  to  be  desirable;  but  1  beg,  for  my 
sake  as  well  as  yours,  that  you  will  consider  it  from  every 
point  of  view. 

"  1  have  thought,  Victorine,  that  perhaps  one  reason  for 
your  carelessness  about  existence  at  Court  was  due  to  your 
entire  indifference  to  any  of  the  cavaliers  there  at  your 
disposal.  1  should  have  surrendered  my  supposed  rights 
to  M.  de  Mailly-Nesle  had  1  ever  perceived  that  you 
desired  him  for  your  comrade.  I  have  been  impelled  to 
the  belief  that  you  do  not  care  for  him.  Therefore  it  is, 
madame,  that  1  approach  you  to-night  with  the  offer  of 
myself  to  you,  as  devoted  to  you  in  heart  and  feeling,  to 
be  your  companion  as  well  as  the  protector  of  your  name, 
or,  as  the  Court  understands  the  word,  your  lover.  With 
this  request  1  couple  the  assurance  that  my  love  and  esteem 


56  The  House   of  de  Mailly 

for  you  are  now  far  stronger  than  two  years  ago,  when  we 
were  united  in  marriage." 

The  Marquise  listened  to  this  punctilious  and  delicate 
offer  quite  passively,  with  courteous  attention,  and  no  little 
amazement.  When  he  had  finished  speaking,  she  sat  for 
a  little  while  contemplating  him  silently.  He  waited  with 
patience  while  her  eyes  travelled  over  his  stalwart  figure 
and  pleasant  face.  Finally,  not  without  nervousness,  she 
began  her  reply. 

"M.  de  Coigny,  I  am  now,  at  the  beginning  of  our 
third  year  of  marriage,  eighteen  years  of  age.  Of  course 
you  remember  how,  for  the  first  sixteen  years  of  my 
life,  spent  in  my  family's  estate  in  Berry,  I  was  care- 
fully educated  for  the  position  which  I  now  hold.  All 
necessary  accomplishments  and  the  code  of  etiquette 
were  perfectly  familiar  to  me  before  that  age;  but  there 
were  some  few  things — essential  ones — about  Court  life 
of  which  they  did  not  inform  me.  Just  after  my  sixteenth 
birthday  I  left  the  chateau  for  the  first  time  in  my  life. 
I  was  conveyed  by  my  guardian  to  Issy,  where,  fifteen 
minutes  after  1  had  first  looked  upon  you,  1  found  myself 
your  wife.  You  will  pardon  me,  1  am  sure,  monsieur, 
when  1  say  that  my  untried  emotions  were  so  strongly 
affected  as  to  be,  one  might  say,  shocked.  We  returned 
to  Versailles,  you  remember,  where  I  was  at  once  presented 
to  their  Majesties.  In  the  two  days  which  we  had  alone 
together  I  had  had  time  to  admire  you,  monsieur.  It 
might  have  come  to  be  more  than  admiration.  When,  how- 
ever, upon  my  first  evening  in  the  palace,  it  was  revealed  to 
me,  inadvertently,  what  your  generally  accepted  position 
in  regard  to  Mme.  d'Egmont  was,  I  bitterly  regretted 
not  having  been  taught  more  truly  what  1  should  have 
expected  at  this  famous  Court;  and,  at  the  same  time,  I 
hastened,  out  of  duty,  to  stifle  at  once  whatever  feeling 
I  had  come  to  have  for  you  in  forty-eight  hours.  So  suc- 
cessful was  I,  monsieur,  that  1  have  never  since  been 
troubled  by  any  emotion  for  any  living  thing  belonging 
to  this  city  and  palace  of  Versailles.  Such,  then,  must 


The  Gallery  of  Mirrors  57 

be  my  justification  for  the  refusal  of  your  very  thoughtful 
offer.  1  can  but  thank  you  for  it.  1  appreciate  to  the 
full  the  gallantry  of  your  intended  sacrifice;  but  1  cannot 
permit  you  to  make  it.  Believe  me,  monsieur,  1  must 
refuse." 

The  Marquis  de  Coigny  had  heard  her  in  silence.  Now, 
at  the  close  of  her  unintentionally  pitiful  recital,  he  re- 
pressed an  exclamation,  and  sat  still,  looking  at  her,  for 
a  long  moment. 

"How  brutal  1  have  been,  Victorine!"  he  said,  finally. 
"But  I  never  realized.  1  never  knew!" 

His  wife  raised  her  hand.  "Oh,  monsieur,  I  beg  of 
you,  do  not  reproach  yourself !  1  would  not  dream,  indeed 
1  would  not,  of  blaming  you  in  any  way.  It  was  only 
that  1  was  young  to  the  way  of  the  world." 

He  looked  at  her  again,  with  a  love-light  struggling  to 
show  itself  in  his  face.  "Victorine — can  you  not  forget? 
Will  you  not  let  me  try  to  make  your  life  happy,  now,  at 
last?" 

She  returned  his  glance,  and  smiled,  dreamily,  as  though 
her  thoughts  had  flown  far.  "  Monsieur,  it  is  not  in  your 
power;  for  1  am  happy,  now,  at  last." 

The  Marquis  de  Coigny  rose.  His  face  was  passive. 
Only  his  mouth  was  drawn  a  little  straighter  than  usual. 
His  bow  was  in  perfect  form.  "  1  have  the  honor  to  wish 
you  good-night,  Victorine. " 

The  Marquise  courtesied.  "Good -night,  Jules,"  she 
said,  kindly. 

He  was  at  the  door  when  he  suddenly,  moved  by  strong 
feeling,  turned  about  again.  She  was  looking  at  him. 
Their  eyes  met,  and  the  glances  clashed.  Silently  she 
courtesied  again;  and,  in  silence,  once  more,  the  Marquis 
bowed  and  turned  away. 


CHAPTER   IV 

Marly 

|N  Monday  afternoon,  at  half -past  five  o'clock, 
in  a  small  room  in  the  Lazariste,  which  was 
next  to  St.  Vincent  de  Paul  in  the  Rue  de 
Sevres,  sat  Francois  de  Bernis,  Abbe  Coyer, 
and  St.  Perle,  the  Lazariste  prior,  taking 
tea.  The  Abbe  Francois  de  Bernis  wore,  over  his  non- 
clerical  court -dress,  a  long,  straight  black  coat,  which 
did  not  set  off  to  advantage  his  dark,  handsome  face, 
straight  brows,  nose,  and  mouth,  smooth  olive  complexion, 
and  deep  gray  eyes.  His  wig  was  short  and  round.  His 
hat  and  gauntlets  lay  on  a  chair  near  at  hand.  Coyer, 
a  weaker  replica  of  his  brother  abbe,  was  in  much  the  same 
costume,  which  denoted  an  approaching  journey;  while 
St.  Perle,  stout,  round,  pale -eyed,  bald,  and  wigless,  was 
in  his  usual  priestly  gown. 

The  prior  had  finished  his  second  bowl  of  tea,  and  sat 
absently  meditating  011  the  excellence  of  its  flavor.  It 
was  not  a  thing  of  which  he  partook  daily.  De  Bernis 
lay  back  in  his  chair,  the  dish  in  his  hand  steaming  un- 
heeded, legs  crossed,  eyes  staring  into  space,  and  a  smile 
stretching  itself  over  his  countenance. 

"Thy  thought,  Francois!  1  would  give  something  for 
the  recipe  of  that  smile  at  Mme.  de  Tencin's.  I  might 
tell  what  tale  1  liked  to  explain  it,  and  they  would  credit 
every  word." 

De  Bernis  returned  to  the  present,  and  directed  the  smile 
at  his  two  companions.  "  It  is  a  tale/'  said  he.  "  A  very 
charming  tale.  However,  our  coach  will  have  arrived 
before  1  have  finished  it  with  proper  adroitness." 


Marly  59 

"The  coach  shall  wait." 

"Ah,  my  dear  Coyer,  'tis  not  the  first  time  that  you 
will  have  made  your  bow  to  his  Majesty  and  to  the  favorite. 
Consider  my  agitated  eagerness." 

"  The  sang-froid  of  M.  de  Bernis  is  known  to  be  imper- 
turbable," ventured  the  prior. 

"  And  your  appearance  at  Marly  will  be  infinitely  more 
important  if  you  show  yourself  indifferent  enough  to  be 
late." 

De  Bernis  shrugged.  "Very  well,  then.  My  history 
will — disappoint  you.  It  might  be  so  charming  a  romance. 
It  is,  in  reality,  so  unfinished.  However — 1  will  be  truth- 
ful. 

"It  began  upon  a  certain  morning  five  weeks  past,  the 
week  of  Christmas,  when,  as  you  know,  1  was  at  Fontaine- 
bleau.  At  ten  of  the  morning  I  started  out,  on  foot,  my 
destination  being  the  hut  of  one  of  the  forest  -  keepers, 
my  road  through  the  forest's  centre.  1  had  some  ecus 
in  my  pouch,  together  with  some  food  and  some  medicine 
of  herbs,  for  the  woodsman  was  wedded  and  was  poor. 
The  morning  was  frosty.  There  was  some  little  snow 
on  the  ground,  and  here  and  there  a  wolf-track.  1  went 
slowly,  composing  consolatory  speeches,  and  meditating 
— on  holy  matters.  Presently  I  looked  up,  with  the  sense 
of  some  one  near,  to  find  myself  facing  a  companion  of 
the  vows,  dressed  like  myself.  I  stopped,  saluted,  and 
bade  him  good-morning.  He  returned  my  greeting  in  a 
pretty  tenor  voice,  unusually  high.  I  looked  again  at 
the  man's  face.  It  was  peculiar,  but  pleasing — small, 
oval,  white,  and  smooth.  He  was  very  young,  and  his 
eyes  were  remarkably  large  and  blue.  He  had  been  fast- 
ing, I  thought." 

Coyer  laughed. 

"Each  day,"  continued  de  Bernis,  retrospectively,  with- 
out heeding  the  interruption — "  each  day  thereafter,  by  one 
chance  or  another,  we  met.  I  am  not  quite  sure  how.  M. 
Devries  seemed  to  be  under  no  particular  order  of  procedure, 
and  so,  at  my  invitation,  he  made  himself  my  companion 


60  The  House  of  de  Mailly 

in  charitable  rounds.  Daily  1  became  more  interested  in 
him  by  reason  of  his  reticence  respecting  himself;  and, 
after  a  time,  I  fell  completely  under  the  spell  of  fascina- 
tion emanating  from  his  voice  and  his  manner.  By 
the  time  we  set  out  together  for  Paris,  and  before  my 
first  suspicion  of  his  personality  came  to  me,  my  inex- 
plicable infatuation  had  risen  to  great  height.  At  the 
inn  in  Fontainebleau,  on  the  Paris  road,  and  again  at  the 
lodging  that  he,  oddly  enough,  chose  to  take  in  the  Fau- 
bourg St.  Antoine,  there  was  always  in  attendance  upon 
my  companion  an  old  and  very  respectful  man  called 
Jer6me.  When  we  passed  the  Paris  barrier  1  overheard 
this  servant,  in  a  whispered  communication,  address 
Devries  in  a  word  which  sounded  strangely  like  'ma- 
dame." 

Here  St.  Perle  started  with  surprise,  and  Coyer  took  snuff 
with  a  little  impatience  at  the  coup  anticipated  by  him  from 
the  beginning. 

De  Bernis  went  on  tranquilly :  "  At  that  instant  all  my 
vague  conjectures  and  my  unconscious  suspicions  sud- 
denly leaped  together  into  a  certainty  of  knowledge.  Need 
I  add,  my  friends,  that,  as  a  man  and  a  poet,  I  was  disgusted 
with  all  the  lost  opportunities,  but  still  enraptured  with  the 
glowing  future?  But,  alas  !  I  soon  discovered  that  my 
goddess — M.  TAbbe"  Devries,  as  I  punctiliously  called  her — 
was  as  unapproachable  as  she  was  irreproachable.  This 
1  came  to  realize  gradually,  and  by  means  of  repeated  fail- 
ures in  small  advances.  1  was  still,  fortunately,  too  careful 
to  betray  myself.  It  was  she  who  proposed  our  pilgrimages 
into  that  most  unsavory  of  holes,  the  Court  of  Miracles. 
Naturally  1  acquiesced,  with  the  utmost  eagerness,  to  the 
proposal  of  continuing  in  her  society  for  two  weeks  more. 
From  here  I  went  for  her  every  morning.  1  left  her  every 
evening  to  return  hither.  By  degrees  I  became  madly  in 
love  with  her  mystery,  and  so,  at  length,  with  herself,  for 
her  self's  sake.  1  would  have  squandered  all  my  small 
fortune  for  a  sight  of  her  without  her  abbe's  dress.  At 
every  turn  I  was  foiled,  either  by  her  or  by  her  guardian, 


Marly  61 

the  incorruptible  Jerdme.  At  last,  a  week  ago,  I  became 
rash  through  desperation.  1  frankly  approached  this 
M.  Jerome,  offered  him  one  hundred  louis  d'or  for  her 
name,  and  five  hundred  if  he  would  admit  me  secretly  to 
her  presence  that  evening.  Actually  the  fool  refused  me 
— refused  me  stolidly,  and  at  length  with  so  much  vigor 
of  purpose  that  1  desisted  from  the  attempt.  The  next 
morning — the  next  morning — by  ten  thousand  devils! — 
she  was  gone !  1  know  not  how,  1  know  not  where.  I  know 
not  if  the  old  man  warned  her  of  danger  in  my  presence, 
or  if  she  went  of  her  own  adorable  accord.  In  fine,  I  love 
the  lady  abbess  of  an  undreamed-of  convent,  1  love  a  mad- 
cap demoiselle  of  1  know  not  what  chateau,  the  siren  of  an 
undiscovered  Venusberg,  the  angel  of  a  heaven  too  high. 
Now,  Coyer,  you  have  learned  the  romance.  Show  me,  if 
you  have  pity  for  the  stricken,  the  road — to  knowledge  and 
to  recovery." 

At  the  close  of  his  recital  de  Bernis'  expression  did  not 
accord  with  his  words.  His  tone  was  irritated,  and  the  dis- 
pleasure in  it  was  caused  as  much  by  the  failure  of  Coyer 
to  appear  interested  as  it  was  that  the  relation  of  his  ad- 
venture recalled  his  hopeless  defeat  at  the  hands  of  a  mem- 
ber of  the  sex  over  whom  de  Bernis  loved  to  feel  himself 
conqueror.  Therefore  he  finished  his  tea  in  silence,  and 
took  three  hasty  and  inelegant  pinches  of  snuff. 

St.  Perle  was  troubled  at  the  doubtful  propriety  of  the 
story  related,  in  which  he  had  been  too  much  interested  to 
refuse  to  listen.  He  now  folded  his  hands  resignedly,  and 
meditated  a  little  lecture  to  come  a  day  or  two  hence. 

The  Abbe  Coyer  was  still  indifferent,  or  apparently  so. 
He  stirred  his  tea  and  stifled  a  yawn  before  he  remarked, 
casually:  "Your  road  to  knowledge,  de  Bernis,  is  also 
that  to  Marly,  where  I  trust  you  will  recover  your  sang- 
froid in  the  presence  of  your  inamorata,  who  happens  to 
be  Mme.  la  Marquise  de  Coigny.  You  will  meet  her  to- 
night. Come,  the  coach  is  at  the  door." 

His  Majesty,  who  had  been  more  than  usually  bored 


62  The  House   of  de  Mailly 

during  the  past  week,  occupied  his  mind  during  the  Sunday- 
morning  sermon  in  thinking  over  all  the  grievances  of 
kinghood,  the  uselessness  of  affairs  of  state,  and  the  pos- 
sibilities of  some  amusement  on  the  morrow  as  recompense 
for  the  prayers  of  to-day.  In  the  afternoon  he  sought  his 
Chateauroux,  and,  happily  finding  her  Claudeless,  asked 
her  aid  in  planning  a  diversion.  Madame,  with  more  tact 
than  originality — in  which  factor  her  nature  was  lacking — 
proposed  a  hunt  atSenart  in  the  morning,  a  sleighing-party 
from  the  forest  to  Marly  in  the  afternoon,  a  supper  and 
salon  at  that  stiff  chateau  in  the  evening.  His  Majesty 
received  the  idea  graciously,  since  it  did  away  with  any 
possibility  of  morning  mass ;  and  so,  though  he  remarked 
later  that  he  preferred  Choisy  to  Marly,  and  madame  alone 
to  madame 's  salons,  the  programme  was  carried  out  as  ar- 
ranged, and  the  King  seemed,  in  the  morning  at  least,  to  be 
having  a  very  good  time,  indeed. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  a  long  procession  of  sleighs  stopped, 
one  by  one,  at  the  open  portals  of  the  great  Louis'  favorite 
retreat.  Their  occupants  were  chilly,  tired,  and  hungry. 
Nevertheless,  the  Salle  des  Cardinaux  presented  a  brilliant 
appearance  when,  an  hour  later,  the  company  descended, 
in  fresh  and  costly  toilets,  from  the  upper  chambers  to  the 
supper-room. 

The  first  course  of  the  evening  meal  was  served  at  six. 
It  was  a  less  elaborate  affair  than  had  been  the  custom  un- 
der the  old  regime ;  but  surely  no  man  who  had  not  inher- 
ited the  appetite  of  a  Louis  XIV.  could  have  complained 
of  a  scarcitjr  in  the  number  of  dishes  set  forth.  The 
company  had  apparently  forgotten  its  weariness.  The 
room  rang  with  laughter;  the  air  was  alive  with  conver- 
sation, with  toasts,  with  the  relating  of  anecdotes,  with 
snatches  of  verse,  with  low- voiced  compliments;  and  the 
candle-light  was  dimmed  by  the  flash  of  diamonds  and  the 
sparkle  of  champagne. 

At  the  head  of  the  first  table  sat  the  King — kingship 
dropped  for  the  evening.  Upon  his  right  hand,  more  royal 
than  her  liege,  was  the  Chateauroux ;  on  his  left,  through 


Marly  63 

some  whim  of  his  own  devising,  sat  Mme.  de  Gontaut, 
who  had  once  rivalled  the  Duchess  for  her  position,  and 
came  dangerously  near  to  winning  it.  Louis  was  sup- 
posed to  be  not  over-fond  of  this  lady,  who  possessed  that 
worst  of  all  feminine  attributes,  an  indiscreet  tongue.  But 
to-night  he  was  fanning  her  long-smouldering  hopes  with 
such  a  breeze  of  devotion  that  the  Duchess,  seeing,  first  of 
any,  the  newly  rising  flame,  openly  showed  her  anger  and 
disgust  by  turning  her  back  upon  the  King  to  talk  inanities 
with  d'Epernon,  her  neighbor. 

By  the  time  that  the  first  course  was  over  madame  was 
exceedingly  uncomfortable.  Never,  since  the  beginning 
of  her  reign,  had  she  known  the  King  to  treat  her  so  incon- 
siderately. Once  or  twice,  from  beneath  her  eyelids,  she 
glanced  at  her  rival.  Mme.  de  Gontaut  was  radiant. 
She  was  racking  her  brain,  she  was  tearing  her  nerves, 
to  keep  Louis  entertained  for  an  hour — one  little  hour — 
— more.  She  was  not  a  pretty  woman,  this  Gontaut ;  but 
Marie  Anne  de  Mailly  perceived,  with  a  pang,  that  she 
could  carry  off  a  kind  of  light  espieglerie,  which  was  amus- 
ing to  the  King  because  of  its  novelty.  The  glance  of  the 
Chateauroux  shifted  to  Louis'  face.  His  Majesty  was 
leaning  to  the  left,  his  blue  eyes  brilliant,  his  lips  curved 
into  the  most  charming  of  smiles,  his  hands,  which  sparkled 
with  jewels,  lying  close  beside  those  of  the  other  woman. 
La  Chateauroux  forgot  d'Epernon  while  she  watched  the 
hands.  The  King  drummed  lightly  on  the  table.  He  was 
repeating  an  animated  bit  of  gossip  to  his  companion.  His 
head  was  thrown  back,  and  a  curious  smile  lurked  in  his 
face.  Presently  his  eyes,  also,  fell  upon  his  hand.  One 
of  the  rings  that  he  wore  was  a  solitaire  ruby  of  great  value, 
set  in  a  band  of  finely  chased  gold.  Still  smiling,  he  slipped 
the  ring  from  his  finger,  and  contemplated  it  for  an  instant, 
knowing  well  how  two  women  were  watching  him.  He 
was  not  usually  prodigal  of  gifts,  this  most  Christian  king. 
But  this  time  there  was  a  score  to  be  paid  off,  a  score  of  jeal- 
ousy; and  revenge  is  worth  more  than  rubies.  Louis 
leaned  forward,  still  speaking,  gently  took  Mme.  de  Gon- 


64          The  House   of  de  Mailly 

taut's  hand  from  the  table,  and  slipped  upon  its  third  fin- 
ger the  ring  he  had  been  wearing. 

"Oh,  Sire!"  murmured  the  woman,  her  heart  throbbing 
with  a  wild  hope. 

Louis,  unable  to  resist  the  temptation,  turned  his  head 
towards  the  Duchess.  She  sat  so  that  he  could  only  see 
her  profile,  but  from  it  he  knew  that  her  face  was  flushed. 
He  noted  the  stiff  poise  of  her  head,  the  pure  immobility 
of  her  shoulder,  the  slight  dilation  of  her  nostril,  the  mouth 
firmly  closed  even  while  she  smiled  at  a  witticism.  Louis 
was  satisfied.  His  anger  with  Claude  de  Mailly  was 
dispelled.  Surely  no  woman  would  have  the  effrontery 
longer  to  encourage  a  petty  cousin  while  her  position 
wavered  in  the  balance.  Already  the  King  released  the 
hand  he  held  and  took  a  different  tone  of  conversation 
with  the  Gontaut. 

But  Louis  of  France  did  not  yet  realize  what  things  an 
offended  woman  will  be  reckless  enough  to  do.  Mme. 
de  Chateauroux  was  furious,  and  her  fury  knew  no  pru- 
dence. She  was  accustomed  to  her  way,  a  way  which 
was  not  that  of  submission.  Her  pride  was  greater  than 
the  King's  own,  and  woe  to  the  king  who  affronted  it! 
In  the  instant  after  she  had  watched  Louis'  carefully  pre- 
pared scene,  her  eyes  fell,  by  accident,  on  the  figure  of 
Claude,  who  sat  far  down  the  table.  The  sight  of  him 
showed  her  her  opportunity  for  satisfaction.  While  she 
ate,  while  she  laughed,  and  talked,  and  quaffed  cham- 
pagne and  the  new  Bordeaux,  she  planned  all  in  her  mind. 
What  matter  if  she  lost  one  man  his  freedom?  She,  Marie 
Anne  de  Mailly  -  Nesle,  would  make  a  king  suffer  the 
consequences  of  his  malice,  and  would  once  more  make 
sure  of  her  own  place,  her  position  as  Queen  of  France. 

At  eight  o'clock  the  King  rose  from  the  table.  Generally 
speaking,  the  supper  had  not  been  particularly  enjoyable. 
Every  one  was  wearied  by  the  long  drive,  and  a  long  con- 
tinuance of  gayety  over  the  food  proved  impossible.  Be- 
sides this,  the  favorite  had  not  set  the  tone  of  conversa- 
tion, and  those  who  knew  her  expression  were  aware  that 


Marly  65 

she  was  in  the  worst  possible  humor.  Mme.  de  Gontaut 
was  displaying  her  short  triumph  so  openly  that  his 
Majesty  frowned  and  actually  left  her  side  as  the  company 
adjourned  in  informal  groups  to  the  salons  next  the 
banquet-room.  Mme.  de  Chateauroux,  still  assiduously 
attended  by  d'Epernon,  sought  out  Victorine  de  Coigny, 
who  stood  beside  Henri  de  Mailly-Nesle.  The  little  Mar- 
quise very  well  knew  the  reason  for  this  meeting,  and  she 
was  suddenly  seized  with  a  chill  of  terror.  Looking  up 
at  her  friend,  she  found  the  Duchess's  eyes  fixed  on  her  in 
kindly  interest. 

"He  will  be  here?"  she  breathed,  just  audibly. 

The  Duchess  nodded  and  smiled.  "With  Coyer.  It 
was  my  command,"  she  answered.  And  Victorine,  im- 
pulsively seizing  her  hand,  carried  it  to  her  lips. 

Once  in  the  Salon  Pastorale,  with  none  of  those  saluta- 
tions to  members  of  the  royal  family  or  guests  of  royal 
blood  which  were  invariably  expected,  at  a  Versailles'  af- 
fair, to  be  made,  the  King,  contrary  to  his  first  purpose, 
but  led  irresistibly,  made  his  way  to  the  side  of  Mme. 
de  Chateauroux.  She  and  Victorine  stood  near  the  door- 
way, talking  with  a  small  company  of  Louis'  intimates. 
There  was  some  slight  apprehension  in  the  King's  manner 
of  approach,  for  la  Chateauroux  very  rarely  concealed 
any  displeasure  that  she  might  be  feeling  towards  him. 
But  this  time  he  was  received  by  a  pretty  gesture  of  wel- 
come. Louis  kissed  her  hand,  and,  as  he  lifted  his  head 
again,  caught  sight  of  some  one  at  the  other  end  of  the 
room  who  arrested  his  attention. 

"Since  when,  Madame,"  he  inquired,  "have  our  as- 
semblies in  retreat  been  frequented  by  members  of  the 
clergy?" 

La  Chateauroux  was  in  no  way  disturbed  by  the  tone. 
"Have  you  forgotten,  then,  Sire,  my  request  that  M.  de 
Bernis  be  presented  by  the  Abb6  Coyer,  who  brings  him 
to-night?  De  Bernis  was  one  of  the  proteges  of  the  Car- 
dinal Fleury.  I  thought  that,  in  such  case,  his  appearance 
before  you  could  not  be  dis — " 
5 


66  The  House   of  de  Mailly 

"Enough,  enough,  Anne,"  interrupted  the  King  at  once, 
with  the  strangely  gentle  manner  which  the  mention  of 
his  former  preceptor  and  minister  invariably  called  forth. 
"I  shall  be  delighted  to  know  M.  de  Bernis." 

The  King  failed  to  perceive  the  glances  that  passed 
from  man  to  man  about  him  at  the  words  of  the  Duchess. 
Neither  was  he  aware  of  the  fact  that  de  Bernis'  presen- 
tation at  Court  had  been  delayed  for  eight  endless  years 
because  the  flagrant  irregularity  of  his  life  had  so  dis- 
pleased Fleur3T  that  the  Cardinal  had  refused  to  give  this 
priest  an  entree  to  the  circle  of  the  Queen,  whom  he  respect- 
ed, or  to  that  of  the  King,  whom  he  loved.  Mme.  de 
Chateauroux  was  perfectly  aware  of  all  this;  but  Fleury 
had  been  dead  a  year,  and  any  qualms  that  she  might 
otherwise  have  felt  were  lost  in  the  interest  of  watching 
the  face  of  Victorine  de  Coigny,  who  had  just  perceived 
the  approach  of  the  new-comers. 

At  Louis'  consent  to  the  presentation,  Mme.  de  Cha- 
teauroux had  at  once  sent  a  message  of  the  eyes  across 
the  room  to  Coyer,  who  was  waiting  for  it.  After  an  in- 
stant the  two  priests  moved  forward,  slowly,  side  by  side, 
towards  the  roj7al  group,  de  Bernis  with  his  eyes  anywhere 
but  upon  the  face  of  Victorine.  The  Duchess,  with  an 
adroit  grace,  moved  a  little  in  front  of  his  Majesty,  who 
was  chatting  with  Richelieu.  Thus  she  was  the  first 
to  receive  the  two.  After  a  cordial  greeting  to  Coyer  she 
turned,  with  some  curiosity,  upon  his  companion,  to  find 
de  Bernis'  sharp  gray  eyes  fixed  upon  her  in  an  admiring 
gaze  that  was  but  just  removed  from  an  affront.  Curiously 
enough,  however,  the  Duchess  failed  to  resent  it.  Hei 
deadened  nerves  vibrated  at  the  glance  with  a  sensation 
so  long  unfelt  that  it  was  a  keen  pleasure.  Certainly 
the  ,man  had  a  fascination  about  him.  She  smiled  slightly, 
and  then  Coyer,  who  had  been  awaiting  the  right  moment, 
presented  the  Abbe  in  punctilious  form. 

"  His  Majesty  had  graciously  expressed  a  desire  to  meet 
you,"  said  the  Duchess  at  once,  turning  slightly  towards 
the  King. 


Marly  67 

Louis,  who  was  impatient  to  have  done  with  the  cere- 
mony, stepped  to  her  side. 

"Your  Majesty /'murmured  madame,  "Monsieur  1'Abbe 
de  Bernis  has  the  extreme  honor  of  being  presented  to  you." 

The  King  extended  his  hand,  which  de  Bernis,  with  a 
low  and  graceful  salutation,  received  upon  the  back  of  his 
and  lifted  to  his  lips. 

"  Any  man  who  had  the  great  good-fortune  to  be  beloved 
by  the  Cardinal  Fleury,  Monsieur  1'Abbe,  cannot  but  be  at 
all  times  welcome  at  our  Court,"  remarked  the  King. 

A  look  of  astonishment  passed  over  the  abbe's  face. 
He  shot  a  glance  at  the  Duchess,  who  appeared  perfectly 
unconscious.  Nevertheless  he  was  too  keen  a  man  to 
allow  himself  to  fall  into  a  mistake  so  early.  "Your 
Majesty  does  me  honor,"  he  replied,  in  the  slightest  pos- 
sible confusion. 

"  Not  at  all,"  returned  Louis.  "  I  am  honoring  the  mem- 
ory of  my  good  friend  Fleury,  whose  death  —  France  and 
I — have  cause  to  regret — more  than  any  other  event — of 
the  reign." 

With  this  scarcely  audible  reminiscence,  his  Majesty, 
in  one  of  his  peculiar  moods,  turned  again  to  Richelieu, 
thus  putting  an  end  to  the  audience.  Once  or  twice  during 
the  next  ten  minutes  Louis  glanced  a  little  impatiently 
towards  the  favorite,  with  whom  he  wished  to  speak  alone ; 
but  she  and  the  abbe  were  engaged  in  a  conversation 
which  appeared  to  be  absorbing  to  both.  Presently  the 
Duchess  advanced  a  little  and  touched  the  shoulder  of  the 
Marquise  de  Coigny.  Victorine  turned  with  nervous  quick- 
ness. Her  delicate  face  was  flushed  and  her  hands  were 
cold. 

"M.  de  Bernis,  will  you  allow  me  to  add  to  your  ac- 
quaintance the  Marquise  de  Coigny,  who  will,  1  think, 
become  your  conductress  for  the  evening,  if  you  desire  to 
meet  others  here ;  or  your  spirit  of  conversation,  if  you  do 
not.  Madame,  I  intrust  the  abbe's  happiness,  for  the 
evening,  to  you." 

De  Bernis  bent  over  Victor ine's  hand.     "Would  that 


68  The  House  of  de  Mailly 

my  life's  happiness  were  as  secure/'  he  murmured.  And 
a  quick  light  came  into  the  woman's  eyes. 

"To  which  lady  will  you  be  presented  next?"  she  in- 
quired, laughingly. 

"  To  none,  madame,  if  you  are  merciful/'  was  the  reply, 
accompanied  by  one  of  those  looks  upon  which  de  Bernis 
came  afterwards  to  depend  for  many  things.  "  Dare  1  ask 
that  you  will  grant  me  an  hour  of  your  companionship?" 

Mme.  de  Coigny  refrained  from  saying  how  many 
hours  of  companionship  she  would  have  granted  for  the 
asking;  but  her  reply  was  certainly  gracious  enough  to 
content  him,  and,  a  moment  later,  they  moved  slowly 
away  from  the  royal  group. 

Meantime,  by  means  of  Richelieu's  ready  tact,  the  knot 
of  courtiers  about  the  King  had  been  dispelled,  and  Louis 
was  left  alone  with  la  Chateauroux.  His  Majesty  watched 
the  movements  of  his  favorite  comrade  with  a  quizzical 
eye;  and  when  the  doughty  Duke  was  obliged  to  carry 
off  Mme.  de  Gontaut  by  making  her  his  own  companion, 
the  King,  with  huge  relish,  took  snuff. 

Mme.  de  Chateauroux  posed  beside  a  heavy  portiere  of 
yellow  and  gold,  with  which  her  own  dress  of  palest  blue 
satin  mingled  harmoniously.  In  the  candle-light  her  face 
was  perfection  itself,  and  her  manner  and  expression  of 
quiet  indifference  were  intensely  pleasing  to  Louis,  who 
was  tired  of  the  efforts  at  talking  made  on  his  behalf. 
He  did  not  now  approach  her  closely,  but  remarked  in  a 
half-whisper,  from  where  he  stood: 

"Madame  has  been  very  cruel  of  late.  The  time,  and 
especially  the  place,  are  unsuited  to  proper  expression  of 
my  lasting  esteem.  Will  madame  be  so  generous  as  to 
receive  me  in  her  own  apartments?  The  heat  and  the 
people  here  are  highly  annoying." 

"If  your  Majesty  commands,"  returned  the  Duchess, 
without  moving,  "1  can,  of  course,  but  obey.  Otherwise, 
I  would  suggest  that  your  Majesty  remain  here  for  at  least 
an  hour  longer.  At  that  time  a  disappearance  would  be 
less  remarkable." 


Marly  69 

The  King  sighed.  "As  you  please — always  as  you 
please,  Anne.  But  I  am  wretchedly  bored  with  all  this." 

"  Allow  me  to  advise  your  obtaining  the  services  of  Mme. 
de  Gontaut  in  dispelling  your  ennui/'  returned  madame, 
coolly. 

The  King  laughed.  "  Ah !  you  failed  to  understand 
my  attention,  1  think.  I  made  a  fool  perform  for  your 
benefit,  that  you  might  perceive  how  little  any  woman 
besides  yourself  could  possibly  please  me." 

The  Duchesse  de  Chateauroux  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"  Au  revoir — in  an  hour." 

"  Au  revoir." 

With  a  bow  and  smile  peculiarly  his  own,  Louis  moved 
away  in  the  direction  of  the  little  salon,  and  madame 
turned  about  to  find  Claude  de  Mailly  close  at  her  side. 

"Dear  Claude!  Where  have  you  sprung  from?"  she 
asked,  smilingly. 

"I  have  been  hoping  all  day  that  you  might  deign  to 
speak  to  me.  You  have  been  very  cold  of  late." 

She  looked  down  upon  him,  and  the  smile  died  from 
her  lips.  "  It  is  you  who  have  made  me  so.  Surely  you 
must  have  realized,  cousin,  that  you  have  been  near  to 
wrecking  your  own  position." 

"My  position  is  nothing  to  me,  except  when  it  enables 
me  to  be  near  to  you." 

"  Then  let  me  tell  you,  Claude,  that  were  you  not  indis- 
creet you  might  see  far  more  of  me  than  you  do  now." 

"  How— how— what  shall  1  do?" 

Madame  turned  away  for  an  instant,  and  a  resolution 
came  into  her  eyes.  "It  is  difficult,  my  Claude,  to  talk 
seriously  with  you  here.  1  wish  to  see  you  happier.  Listen. 
In  three-quarters  of  an  hour  go  to  my  apartments.  An- 
toinette will  let  you  in.  There,  when  I  can  escape  from 
this,  I  will  come  to  you,  and  we  shall  have  a  little  con- 
sultation. You  shall  lay  bare  your  heart  to  me,  if  you 
will;  and  I — will  turn  adviser." 

Claude  seized  her  hand.  "You  will  do  this?  You 
will  let  me  tell  you  all?  You  will  listen  to  what  I  shall 


70  The  House   ofde  Mailly 

plead  for?  My  God!  It  is  more  than  I  could  have  hoped. 
Marie,  Marie — 1  shall  make  you  believe  me,  1  shall  make 
you  consent!" 

"Chut!  Some  one  will  hear  you,  my  child.  There, 
that  is  enough.  Remain  here  while  1  go.  Behold,  de 
Gevres  is  coming.  Au  revoir,  then/' 

She  parted  from  him  with  a  smile  as  easy  as  that  with 
which  she  had  begun  the  conversation.  What  was  one 
to  think  of  her?  A  woman  without  heart,  nerves,  senses? 
No.  Only  a  woman  of  the  Court,  a  woman  of  the  world ; 
a  woman  whose  heaven  was  Versailles,  whose  god  was 
called  Louis  XV.,  whose  hell  would  be  dismissal  with  ten 
thousand  livres  a  year. 

Claude  stood  looking  after  her  as  she  gave  her  hand  to 
the  lisping  Duke;  and  then,  tingling  with  excitement, 
with  delight,  with  hope,  with  faith  in  his  words  and  in 
her,  the  boy  started  upon  the  way  she  had  pointed  out 
to  him.  He  went  slowly  across  the  room  to  the  spot  where 
stood  Henri  and  a  little  group  of  ladies  and  gentlemen. 
He  laid  his  hand  upon  the  Marquis'  arm  and  drew  him  a 
little  away  from  the  rest.  Henri  looked  with  curiosity 
and  surprise  upon  his  comrade's  excited  face,  the  brilliant 
green  of  his  eyes,  and  the  spasmodic  manner  in  which 
he  breathed. 

"  What  is  it,  Claude?  You  look  as  though  you  had  an 
inspiration,  or  were  about  to  be  seized  with  an  illness.  You 
have  had  too  much  champagne." 

"  Henri,  1  am  about  to  be  the  happiest  man  in  ten  thou- 
sand worlds.  Henri,  will  you  pray  for  the  spirit  of  elo- 
quence to  seize  me?  For  one  half-hour  1  would  be  a  Bos- 
suet,  a  Moliere,  a  Racine!  Henri,  have  you  ever  heard 
me  talk  well?  No.  I  have  not — " 

"  Name  of  a  devil,  Claude,  what  is  the  matter?" 

"Nothing.     Nothing.     Never  mind.     Good-night!" 

He  started  away,  but  his  cousin  darted  after  him  and 
caught  him  by  the  arm.  "  See  here,  my  friend,  you  would 
better  let  me  accompany  you  to  your  room.  You  must 
not  make  a  scene.  1  cannot  imagine  how  you — " 


Marly  71 

Before  Henri  finished  Claude  broke  into  a  laugh.  "  Mordi, 
Henri,  didst  think  me  mad?  I  am  a  trifle  excited.  1  am 
weary  from  the  hunt — what  you  will.  1  am  going  to 
retire.  Do  not  disturb  me  to-night.  See,  there  is  Mile. 
d'Argenson  regarding  me.  Let  me  go  at  once.  There. 
Good-night!" 

After  these  words  the  Marquis  paused  more  contentedly, 
and  saw  his  cousin  leave  the  room,  going  in  the  direction 
of  the  grand  staircase.  On  his  way  Claude  passed  the 
King,  who  was  with  Mme.  de  Jarnac,  and  the  Duchess, 
still  with  de  Genres.  He  left  the  second  salon  behind 
and  entered  an  antechamber  opening  upon  the  central 
hall.  Here,  quite  alone,  side  by  side  in  the  shadow  of  a 
hanging,  were  Victorine  de  Coigny  and  Francois  de  Bernis. 
The  Abbe  was  toying  with  her  fan,  and  laughingly  an- 
swering her  animated  questions  and  observations.  De 
Mailly  took  mental  note  of  her  face  as  he  bowed  in  passing. 
Never  had  he  seen  it  so  absolutely  free  from  discontent 
or  that  little  look  of  fretful  weariness  that  neither  Henri 
nor  de  Coigny  himself  had  ever  been  able  to  dispel.  Now 
Claude  had  left  them  behind,  and  the  staircase  was  before 
him.  Ascending  rapidly,  he  passed  along  the  corridor 
above  to  the  old  apartments  of  de  Maintenon.  He  knock- 
ed, was  admitted  without  delay,  and  conducted,  by  An- 
toinette, into  the  inner  room. 

"Monsieur  le  Comte  will  wait  here.  He  is  early/'  she 
said,  as  she  slipped  away. 

In  the  centre  of  the  room  in  which  he  was  left  stood 
a  round  table.  To  this  Claude  drew  a  chair,  seated  him- 
self, and  then,  obeying  an  impulse,  leaned  forward  on  the 
mahogany  and  laid  his  head  upon  his  arms.  Minutes 
passed,  and  he  distinguished  them  neither  from  seconds 
nor  from  hours.  After  a  time  the  maid  once  more  went 
through  the  room.  There  was  the  murmur  of  a  phrase 
or  two  spoken  in  the  antechamber,  a  door  softly  opened, 
the  delicate  swish  of  satin,  and  then  Claude  was  upon 
one  knee  at  the  feet  of  his  cousin  of  Chateauroux. 

She  raised  him  up  and  smiled  slowly  into  his  brilliant 


72  The  House   of  de  Mailly 

eyes.  "  You  are  tired  of  waiting,  and,  indeed,  I  do  not  won- 
der. But  I  have  not  been  able  to  effect  my  disappearance 
till  now.  'Toinette  will  bring  a  pate  and  a  glass  of  wine 
to  us  here,  which  we  will  take  together,  not  as  cousins, 
Claude,  but—" 

"As  lovers,"  he  murmured. 

She  shook  her  head  at  him.  "  As  very  good  friends,  my 
dear." 

"  Ah,  no — Anne,  no !  Surely  you  could  not  think  when 
you  had  granted  me  so  much — so  much  as  this — that  I 
would  not  dare  more — would  not  risk  all,  at  last — " 

"Chut!  Stop,  Claude!  Why,  would  you  finish  our 
colloquy  in  a  word?  We  have  much  time  before  us.  To 
hurry  is  ungraceful." 

He  flushed  and  laughed  at  the  same  time.  Happily  at 
that  moment  Antoinette  and  Fouchelet,  the  valet,  entered 
together,  the  man  bearing  their  repast  upon  a  silver  tray. 
While  the  dishes  were  being  set  out  madame  moved  leisurely 
over  to  her  toilet-table  for  a  fan,  and  Claude  sat  silent  till 
they  were  alone  again. 

"  And  now,  my  Claude,  you  will  pledge  me  in  a  glass  of 
this  wine  of  Champagne.  See  —  to  thee,  and  me,  and  our 
house,  Claude!  Come — drink!" 

Was  madame  suddenly  nervous?  Claude  heard  her 
voice  tremble,  and  thought  that  her  hand  shook  as  she 
raised  the  delicate  crystal  goblet,  with  its  tracery  of  golden 
grapes  and  vines,  filled  to  the  brim  with  that  foaming  gold 
which  the  court  of  the  fifteenth  Louis  knew  so  well. 

"  To  you,  Anne !     Only  to  you  1 " 

The  glass  was  at  his  lips,  and  he  drank  the  toast  with  his 
soul  in  his  eyes.  He  was  blind ;  he  was  deaf.  He  did  not 
hear  that  sound  in  the  neighboring  room  that  had  stopped 
his  companion's  hand  and  fixed  her  eyes.  The  door  to  the 
boudoir  was  thrown  violently  open,  and,  at  the  same  in- 
stant, there  was  the  crash  of  glass  on  the  floor. 

"Diable!"  cried  a  peculiar  voice;  and  then  a  silence, 
thick,  terrifying,  fell  upon  the  little  room. 

Slowly,  so  slowly  that  the  woman  was  fascinated  with 


Marly  73 

the  sight,  Claude  carried  the  glass  from  his  lips  back  to  the 
table.  His  eyes  had  met  those  of  the  King,  and  both  men 
hung  to  the  glance.  The  boy  rose,  his  limbs  as  steady  as 
his  hand  had  been.  And  still  no  one  spoke.  Mme.  de 
Chateauroux  was  not  acting  now.  Claude  had  not  seen 
her  first  terror,  but  he  knew  when  her  hand  crept  to  her 
mouth,  perceived  the  trembling  of  it,  heard  dimly  the 
sharpness  of  her  breathing.  Finally  her  voice  came  to 
him  as  if  from  a  great  distance,  as  she  faintly  said : 
"I  had  not — expected — your  Majesty — so  early." 
"So  early,  madame,"  echoed  the  royal  voice,  suavely. 
"And  does  Mme.  de  Chateauroux  now  make  appoint- 
ments for  her  evenings  by  the  hour?" 

Claude  shut  his  teeth.     " Sire,  you  insult  my  cousin!" 
Mme.  de  Chateauroux  started  unfeignedly,  and  Louis' 
face   flushed.     His  tone,  however,  was  unmoved,  as  he 
said,  slowly : 

"Madame,  order  this  person  to  leave  the  room." 
La  Chateauroux  hesitated  for  the  fraction  of  a  second. 
Then  she  turned  to  de  Mailly.    "Monsieur,"  she  said,  "do 
you  need  further — " 

But  before  she  could  finish  Claude  took  the  affair  into 
his  own  hands.  Moving  until  he  stood  between  her  and 
the  King,  and  looking  straight  into  her  now  impenetrable 
face,  he  spoke : 

"Anne,  when  I  came  here  to-night,  I  think  you  must 
have  known  what  it  was  to  say ;  and  you  will  let  me  speak 
it  now.  Anne — I  love  you.  I  love  you  more  dearly  than 
anything  upon  earth.  1  offer  you  what  I  have  to  give — 
marriage,  and  the  devotion  of  my  life.  You  have  been 
mistress  of  France,  but  I  offer  you  an  honester  home,  one 
in  which  you  may  obtain  absolution.  Choose,  then,  here 
and  now,  between  us  two.  I  ask  that  the  King,  as  a  man, 
will  allow  that  choice — between  marriage  with  me  and 
freedom  to  live  where  we  choose,  or — the  other  life." 

In  the  stillness  which  followed  Louis  de  Bourbon  glanced 
from  the  woman  to  the  speaker  and  back  again.  Truly, 
the  boy  had  courage,  but  something  lacked  in  wit.  Then 


74          The  House   of  de  Mailly 

the  King  felt  for  his  snuff-box,  opened  it,  smiled 

took  a  pinch  in  his  fingers,  and,  before  absorbing  it,  re 

marked,  dryly: 

"Choose,  madame." 

La  Chateauroux  bent  her  head.  It  was  not  what  she  had 
planned,  this  situation.  She  herself  it  was  who  was  bear- 
ing the  difficult  and  the  despicable  part  in  it ;  for  madame 
was  but  twenty-seven,  and  had  still  traditions  of  the  family 
honor  clinging  to  her.  The  answer  came  as  though  it  cut 
her  a  little  to  speak  her  words,  there,  with  the  King's  cynical 
eyes  upon  her,  and  all  Claude's  young,  mad  hope  in  his 
face: 

"Claude — 1  wish  you — good-night.  Will  your  Majesty 
do  me  the  honor  to  take  a  glass  of  wine?" 


CHAPTER  V 

The  Chapel 

UESDAY  morning  at  Marly  proved  an  ordeal 
for  the  army  of  valets  and  maids  attendant  on 
the  ladies  and  gentlemen  who  had  taken  part 
in  the  amusement  of  the  day  before.  His  Maj- 
esty, indeed,  could  not  be  said  to  have  set  a 
good  example  to  his  companions.  He  was  sulky,  he  was 
depressed  by  the  weather,  and  he  wanted  de  Berryer.  While 
he  was  still  in  bed  he  was  informed  by  de  Rosset,  his  first 
gentleman,  that  the  Chief  of  Police  could  not  possibly  be 
brought  to  Marly  from  Versailles  under  six  hours.  Louis 
made  no  comments,  but  kicked  the  bedclothes  aside  and 
began  to  dress  himself  with  extreme  rapidity,  receiving  his 
garments  as  willingly  from  the  plebeian  hands  of  Bachelier 
as  from  those  of  de  Rosset,  whose  business  it  was  to  con- 
duct matters  properly.  Being  finally  arrayed  in  a  very 
much  shorter  time  than  usual,  the  King  adjourned  to  the 
conventional  room  and  sat  down  to  the  breakfast  prepared 
for  him.  After  gloomily  striking  off  the  tops  of  his  eggs, 
dipping  a  bit  of  bread  into  each  yolk,  and  throwing  the  rest 
away,  till  he  had  demolished  seventeen  of  these  commodi- 
ties, without  eating  what  one  would  contain,  he  ordered 
his  sleigh  prepared,  and,  at  nine  o'clock,  left  Marly  behind, 
and  set  off  at  full  trot  for  Versailles. 

Behind  him,  at  his  grandfather's  stiff  old  chateau,  Louis 
left  a  pretty  disposition  of  human  emotions.  Mme.  de 
Chateauroux  was  very  anxious.  The  more  she  brooded 
over  the  scene  of  the  night  before,  the  more  she  regretted 
the  affair.  Certainty  it  had  turned  out  as  badly  as  possible. 
Claude  was  inevitably  ruined.  He  must  by  now  have  dis- 


j6  The  House   of  de  Mailly 

covered  how  heartless  and  how  cruel  she  was;  and  as  to 
Louis  being  more  jealous,  and  therefore  more  anxious  to 
please  her  than  before,  why,  that  was  a  doubtful  question. 
He  could  be  very  ambiguous  when  he  chose. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  Claude  himself  was  less  concerned 
at  his  position  than  his  cousin  for  him.  Claude  had  much, 
and,  at  the  same  time,  little,  to  lose  at  Court.  His  love 
was  strong,  but  his  youthful  buoyancy  of  spirit  was 
stronger.  He  was  young,  happy-hearted,  untrammelled. 
There  was  no  one  dependent  on  him  for  place.  He  would 
have  passed  the  Bastille  doors  without  grief  had  it  only 
been  promised  him  that  Henri  should  visit  his  room  there 
once  a  week  with  the  latest  stories  and  gossip,  and  that 
the  Doublet-Persane  Nouvelles  a  la  Main  and  a  billet  from 
his  lady  should  reach  him  every  Wednesday  and  Satur- 
day. This  was  not  more  on  account  of  his  frivolity  of 
taste  than  because  of  his  ability  to  make  for  himself  a 
home  and  amusements  out  of  the  most  unpromising  ma- 
terial. He  was  blessed  with  two  things,  that  only  the 
gods  can  give  and  the  gods  only  take  away — a  system  of 
pure  optimism  and  unbounded  faith  in  the  goodness 
of  human  nature. 

Claude  by  no  means  lay  awake  during  the  hours  that 
were  left  between  his  retirement  and  the  dawn,  on  that 
night  at  Marly;  but  his  eyes  unclosed  in  the  morning 
more  heavily  than  was  their  wont,  and  it  took  him  but  a 
second  to  define  the  sense  of  weight  at  his  heart  when 
he  was  awake.  Sounding  the  hand-bell  for  his  man,  he 
made  a  rapid  and  silent  toilet,  and  then  hastened  off  to 
the  neighboring  apartment  of  his  cousin  the  Marquis. 
Henri  was  in  bed,  still  in  that  dream-stage  between  sound 
slumber  and  preliminary  yawns.  Claude's  repeated  and 
vigorous  knocks  at  the  door  succeeded  at  last  in  bringing 
him  to  a  realizing  sense  of  all  that  is  disagreeable  in  life. 
"Diable!  Is  it  you,  Chaumelle?  What  do  you  mean 
by  rousing  me  at  this  hour?  Is  the  chateau  on  fire?  Is 
the  King  ill — or  Anne  in  a  temper?  Wait — wait — wait! 
lopen!" 


The    Chapel  77 

The  Marquis,  shivering  with  cold,  crept  out  of  bed  and 
unlocked  his  door. 

"Oh!  You,  Claude!  1  might  have  guessed  it.  One's 
family  is  so  inconsiderate.  Will  you  come  in?  I'm  going 
to  bed  again  to  keep  myself  warm.  For  the  love  of  Heaven, 
get  Chaumelle  to  bring  a  tripod  of  charcoal  or  to  light  my 
grate  here!" 

Claude  obligingly  sounded  the  gong,  whereupon  the 
Marquis'  man  appeared  with  admirable  promptness. 

"  Run  to  my  room,  Chaumelle,  and  bring  in  the  chauffier 
you  will  find  there.  His  Majesty's  too  tender  of  his  forests 
to  provide  us  with  wood  for  burning.  It's  abominably 
cold." 

The  valet  hurried  away,  to  return  in  three  minutes 
gingerly  carrying  by  its  handles  a  tripod  filled  with  glow- 
ing charcoal,  that  gave  out  a  very  satisfactory  heat. 

"Will  monsieur  rise  now?" 

"No,"  answered  Claude.  "Set  it  there.  Bring  the 
water  in  half  an  hour  from  now.  He  will  be  ready  for  you 
then." 

The  man  bowed  and  disappeared,  while  Henri,  from 
the  bed,  grumbled  discontentedly :  "  How  in  the  name  of 
a  thousand  devils  dost  thou  know  at  what  hour  I  will 
rise?  Wilt  let  me  sleep  again  now,  or  not?" 

"Not,  Henri,"  was  the  reply,  as  Claude  drew  a  tabouret 
up  to  the  bed  and  spoke  in  a  tone  so  new  that  his  cousin 
sat  up  and  looked  at  him. 

"You  are  in  trouble,  Claude,  and  you  do  not  tell  me 
of  it." 

Claude  leaned  over  the  bed,  took  up  the  pillows,  and 
fixed  them,  as  a  woman  might,  at  the  Marquis'  back. 

"  Sit  there  so,  and  pull  the  coverlet  about  thy  shoulders, 
and  then  listen  to  my  history,  and  tell  me — what  the  end 
will  be." 

Thereupon  the  younger  de  Mailly  proceeded  to  recount, 
very  accurately,  with  neither  exaggeration  nor  palliation, 
all  that  had  occurred  on  the  previous  night,  together  with 
certain  incidents  which  had  gone  before,  unthought  of, 


78  The  House   of  de  Mailly 

but  which  now  stood  out  from  the  tangle  of  life  with  signifi- 
cant relationship  to  the  present  situation.  The  Marquis 
listened  closely,  with  increasing  anxiety  in  his  expression ; 
and  when  Claude  ceased  to  speak  there  was  a  silence  be- 
tween the  cousins.  It  was  this  silence  that  forced  upon 
the  Count  his  first  twinge  of  real  dread. 

"Well,  Henri!"  he  said  at  last,  with  sharp  intensity. 

"Well,  Claude?"  returned  the  other,  sadly. 

"What  dost  think  of  it?" 

"  I  think — do  you  remember,  Claude,  the  affair  of  young 
d'Agenois?" 

Claude  started.  Then  he  rose,  walked  measuredly 
over  to  the  window,  and  looked  out  upon  the  bleak  land- 
scape. His  face  was  invisible  as  he  said,  in  a  muffled 
voice:  "Francois  d'Agenois,  the  Italian,  who — who  once 
asked  in  marriage  the  hand  of  the  Marquise  de  la  Tour- 
nelle?  Francois,  Due  d'Agenois — " 

"Has  lived  since  then  near  Geneva,  while  Mme.  de  la 
Tournelle  was  created  Duchesse  de  Chateauroux.  ...  1 
meant  that  one,  Claude, — yes." 

"And  you  think,"  said  the  young  fellow,  turning  about, 
and  squarely  facing  his  companion — "you  think  that  1 
shall — be  invited  to  undergo  the  same — fate?" 

"Ah,  Claude,  my  cousin  —  my  comrade — surely  not! 
Surely  the  King  is  older,  his  penchant  for  Marie  is  now 
perfectly  understood,  perfectly  secure;  nay — " 

"  Don't  say  that,"  interrupted  Claude,  suddenly.  "  Why 
should  he  be  secure  with  her?  Ah,  Henri,  last  night  she 
refused  my  offer  of  marriage,  it  is  true;  but  it  may  have 
been  to  lessen  his  Majesty's  fury  against  me.  Henri, 
1  swear  to  you,  that  with  her,  for  her,  as  my  wife,  I  would 
live  in  the  desert,  a  wilderness,  anything,  and  be  the 
happiest  man  in  all  the  world.  She  knows  this.  Henri, 
she  must  care — a  little!" 

Mailly-Nesle  listened  with  a  face  more  serious  than 
ever,  and,  when  Claude  finally  stopped,  he  shook  his  head. 
"Do  not  put  your  faith  in  her,  Claude.  1,  her  brother, 
warn  you.  She  gave  up  everything  in  life  to  win  the 


The   Chapel  79 

place  she  obtained.  Remember  how  d'Agenois  was  her 
promised  husband  when  he  was  exiled  with  her  consent. 
Remember  that  she  drove  her  own  sister,  Alexandre's 
wife,  out  of  Versailles,  to  the  Ursulines,  for  life.  She — 
no,  Claude,  she  will  not  help  you.  She  cannot." 

The  younger  sighed.  "Ah,  well — I  ask  too  much, 
perhaps.  At  any  rate,  it  may  mean  nothing  more  than  a 
month  in  the  Bastille.  That  would  not  be  at  all  difficult. 
Indeed,  I  should  indulge  in  a  much -needed  rest.  You 
and  de  Coigny  should  come  to  tell  me  all  the  news ;  1  would 
invite  Monsieur  le  Gouverneur,  and,  possibly,  my  turn- 
key to  dine,  and  we  should  all  be  merry  with  feasting  and 
fasting  by  turns.  You  see,  Henri,  my  spirit  will  not  be 
shaken  till  the  final  blow.  This  room  is  like  a  furnace. 
When,  dear  Lord  Doleful,  are  you  going  to  rise?" 

"  At  once,  Claude.  My  friend,  your  buoyancy  is  worth 
rubies.  Even  now  1  am  mourning  for  you  more  than  you 
for  yourself.  How  are  you  able  to  move  hand  or  foot?" 

"Come,  you  are  aping  d'Epernon.  You  make  a  bad 
lover.  No  woman  likes  a  man  with  a  face  so  long.  Ah! 
And  that  reminds  me — but  what  shall  you  do  when  you 
are  dressed?" 

"Coffee — if  'tis  to  be  had  here — and  eggs;  the  health 
of  Mme.  de  Chateauroux;  that  of  Mme.  de  Coigny;  our 
sleigh ;  Versailles ;  you  with  me.  Now,  of  what  is  it  that 
you  are  reminded?" 

"  Good.  Good.  Hurry  now,  Chaumelle.  I  famish.  ...  I 
was  reminded  that,  last  evening,  as  1  left  the  last  ante- 
chamber on  the  great  hall,  I  beheld  your  charming  Vic- 
torine,  herself  charming — and  being  charmed." 

"Ah!— Mordi!  It  is  that  vile  abbe"—  de  Bernis,  they 
call  him — who  was  her  companion  in  Paris." 

"A  handsome  fellow,"  observed  the  Count,  from  a  mirror 
where  he  was  adjusting  his  wig. 

The  Marquis  turned  so  sharply  under  Chaumelle's 
razor  that  he  narrowly  missed  having  his  chin  laid  open. 
"You  think  so?"  he  cried  out,  anxiously. 

Claude  burst  into  a  shout  of  laughter.     "On  my  soul, 


80          The  House   of  de  Mailly 

Henri,  you  are  a  prig.  Use  a  little  indifference  towards 
her.  'Tis  only  that  can  save  you  now.  Why,  positively, 
you  are  absurd.  How  is  it  that  you  arrange  the  '  gallant ' 
now?" 

"A  trifle  smaller  than  you  have  it  there,  and  farther 
down  towards  the  left  ear.  There.  That  is  better." 

"  Thanks.  Ah,  Chaumelle,  five  livres  to  you  if  you  have 
Monsieur  le  Marquis  ready  by  half-past  nine." 

Chaumelle  more  than  won  his  prize,  for  it  was  but  just 
half -past  when  the  cousins,  having  finished  their  coffee 
and  eggs,  were  announced  at  the  apartments  of  the  Duchess. 

Mme.  de  Chateauroux,  pelissed,  hooded,  and  muffed  in 
crimson  velvet  and  sables,  sat  pensively  at  her  window, 
awaiting  the  arrival  of  her  sleigh.  She  rose  in  unfeigned 
agitation  at  the  entrance  of  Claude  and  her  brother. 

"  Ah,  Monsieur  le  Comte  !  How  rash  you  are !  You 
compromise  me;  you — you  make  your  own  case  infinitely 
worse.  Henri,  how  could  you  have  permitted  him  to  come  ?" 

"Madame!"  cried  Claude,  beseechingly,  but  the  Marquis 
interrupted. 

"The  King,  Anne,  has  left  Marly.     You—" 

"I  know.  I  know.  Whom  did  you  see  in  the  hallway 
as  you  came  here?  Any  one?" 

"De  G£vres  and  Richelieu,"  answered  Claude. 

Henri,  frowning,  pinched  him. 

"Good  Heaven!"  cried  the  Duchess;  "we  are  lost,  both 
you  and  I!  Oh,  you  are  thoughtless,  cruel!  Go  at  once, 
both  of  you,  and  let  de  Gevres  see  you  instantly  depart 
for  Versailles.  I  shall  not  now  leave  here  until  twelve 
o'clock.  Go!  Go!" 

She  fairly  pushed  them  from  her  into  her  antechamber, 
pointing,  as  she  did  so,  to  the  outer  door.  Claude  had 
turned  scarlet,  but  Henri  was  very  pale.  Both  of  them 
bowed  in  silence;  for  there  seemed  no  words  suitable  for 
bidding  the  "fair  and  haughty,"  now  very  tearful  and 
eager  Chateauroux,  good-bye.  Once  outside,  the  Marquis 
turned  and  looked  at  Claude. 

"De  Gevres  was  to  see  us  again,"  he  muttered,  angrily. 


The   Chapel  81 

"De  Gevres  be — 1"  was  the  low  reply.  "1  return  to 
Versailles." 

"  And  I  accompany  you.  .  .  .  Good  Heaven,  Claude,  don't 
think  that  she  meant  it  all!  You  see  how  everlastingly 
she  must  work  against  all  that  is  generous  in  her." 

"  Ah,  messieurs !  Your  morning  interview  with  madame, 
your  sister  and  cousin,  was  short.  You  are  leaving  the 
chateau?" 

"  We  follow  the  example  of  his  Majesty,  monsieur." 

"And  I,  gentlemen,  shall  follow  your  first  lead.  I 
hasten  to  pay  my  compliments  to  the  Duchess.  1  have 
the  honor  to  wish  you  an  enjoyable  ride." 

Richelieu,  in  a  morning  toilet  of  fawn  color  and 
lavender,  an  embroidery  bag  upon  his  arm,  a  patch-box 
in  one  hand,  smilingly  passed  the  cousins  and  went  on 
his  way  to  the  apartments  of  the  favorite. 

Madame  was  divested  of  her  wraps  and  resigned  to 
Marly  for  another  two  hours.  Richelieu  seated  himself 
comfortably  in  the  historic  boudoir,  one  foot,  prone  to 
repentance  for  many  truffles  and  overmuch  vin  d'Ai, 
reposing  tenderly  on  a  cushion,  his  embroidery  in  his 
hands,  and  a  snuff-box  near  by.  The  favorite,  gracious, 
but  a  trifle  on  her  guard,  placed  herself  opposite  to  him 
and  waited. 

The  Duke  took  several  contemplative  stitches  before 
he  remarked,  gently:  "Madame,  you  look  unwell  this 
morning.  Now,  were  I  you,  I  should  not  be  nervous. 
As  1  imagine,  you  were  slightly  rash  yesterday — did  not 
manage  quite  so  perfectly  as  usual.  You  have,  no  doubt, 
sacrificed  the  cousin;  but  you  are  still  secure." 

"His  Majesty  has  spoken  to  you?" 

"By  no  means.  But  the  mad  haste  with  which  he 
departed  this  morning  portends  extreme  disease  of  mind. 
It  is  his  fear  that,  after  all,  Claude  may  hold  charms  which 
he  does  not  possess." 

The  Duchess  raised  her  eyes  to  the  ceiling.  "Dear 
uncle,"  she  said,  "Louis  is  perfect.  I  adore  him!" 

"  Ah,  but  you  either  make  him  doubt  too  strongly  or  you 
6 


82  The  House   of  de  Mailly 

let  him  know  it  too  well.  You  are  too  impassioned,  Anne. 
I  have  always  told  you  that.  I  assure  you  I  should  have 
been  married  twenty  times,  instead  of  only  twice,  had  I 
not  been  able  to  have  any  woman  for  the  asking." 

La  Chateauroux,  perhaps  unconsciously,  sighed. 

"Ah,  madame,  life  is  cruel  to  us  all.  But  now,  Anne, 
come,  confide  in  me,  as  your  good  counsellor,  certain  par- 
ticulars which  the  Court  but  guesses.  What  is  the  last 
madness  of  young  de  Mailly,  and  why  did  the  King,  after 
a  petit  lever  and  a  vile  breakfast,  without  admitting  a 
single  entry,  order  his  sleigh  an  hour  ago  and  set  off  for 
Versailles  and  de  Berry er  as  if  pursued  by  all  the  furies? 
All  knowledge  is  yours,  my  Anne.  Share  it  with  me." 

Mme.  de  Chateauroux  rose  from  her  chair  and  swept 
two  or  three  times  up  and  down  the  little  room.  Richelieu, 
examining  her  at  his  leisure,  could  discover  no  trace  of 
agitation  in  her  manner.  Suddenly  she  stopped  still 
and  turned  towards  him. 

"I  do  not  deny  that  Claude  is  lost,"  she  said,  slowly. 
"  But,  if  he  is,  is  it  not  his  fault  alone?  He  is  not  ignorant 
of  the  ways  of  the  Court.  Why  should  he  put  himself, 
his  career,  in  my  hands?  He  will  reproach  me,  without 
doubt.  All  will  do  that.  Again  I  shall  be  called,  as  in 
the  other  case,  without  heart,  without  generosity,  without 
love  for  my  family.  Mon  Dieu! — you  remember  the  scandal 
when  my  father  left  Versailles?  Bah!  Put  me  out  of 
my  position,  uncle.  Imagine  me  as  a  mere  bourgeoise 
— of  the  people.  Well,  then?  What  woman  but  will  be- 
come selfish,  forgetful  of  all,  for  the  man  she  loves?  What 
are  those  others,  who  stand  in  her  way,  to  her?  And  I, 
Monsieur  le  Due,  am  a  woman  who  loves.  I  love — I  have 
the  courage  to  love — the  King." 

A  flicker  passed  through  the  eyes  of  the  Duke  as  he  bent 
over  his  embroidery.  Was  it  amusement,  or  was  it  reve- 
lation? Could  it  be  but  a  recollection  of  certain  com- 
mon Court  memories  that  appertained  to  the  "  love "  of 
Marie  Anne  de  Mailly?  Was  it  a  fleeting  remembrance 
of  the  brief  and  stormy  careers  of  the  two  older  sisters  of 


The   Chapel  83 

this  woman,  both  of  whom  had  held  her  place,  the  one  dy- 
ing in  it,  pitifully  enough,  the  other  dismissed  by  the 
open  command  of  the  Marquise  de  la  Tournelle,  then  just 
coming  into  power?  Was  it  a  vision  of  the  angry  help- 
lessness of  the  old  Marquis  de  Nesle,  driven  away  to  die 
in  exile,  because  his  pride  of  family  was  too  great  to  sanc- 
tion his  daughters'  dishonor  ?  Was  it  a  thought  for  a 
brother's  hidden  shame  ;  of  the  merciless  flouting  of  a 
helpless  queen;  of  the  dismissal  of  every  minister  who 
held  at  heart  the  best  interests,  not  of  the  mistress,  but  of 
France;  of  the  ruin  of  every  courtier  who  had  not  paid 
his  court  to  her;  of  the  fate  of  the  hapless  d'Agenois;  the 
impending  ruin  of  young  de  Mailly?  Was  it,  perhaps,  a 
vision  of  prophecy  concerning  others  to  come,  on  whom 
disfavor  should  fall  —  Belleville,  d' Argenson,  Chartres, 
Maurepas,  the  Dauphin  of  France — nay,  finally,  after  all, 
before  all,  himself,  the  great,  the  incomparable  Richelieu, 
estranged  from  the  King  and  the  Court  through  the  "  love  " 
of  this  woman?  After  all,  the  flutter  of  many  thoughts 
takes  but  an  instant,  and  madame  had  scarcely  time  for 
impatience  when  her  good  "uncle"  was  answering  her 
with  well-calculated  lightness. 

"You  are  right,  Anne.  And  how  drunk  with  the  hap- 
piness of  such  love  should  our  most  gracious  Majesty  be! 
Perhaps  he  has  flown  away  this  morning  that  he  may  re- 
flect in  happy  solitude  on  his  great  good-fortune. " 

Unfortunately,  however,  as  Richelieu  well  knew,  this 
was  not  precisely  what  his  most  gracious  Majesty  was  en- 
gaged in  this  morning.  Upon  his  unexpected  arrival  at 
Versailles  at  so  early  an  hour,  the  King's  first  cry  was  for 
de  Berryer.  The  attendant  of  whom  he  made  demand 
performed  his  obeisance,  looked  nervously  about  him,  and 
scurried  away  on  a  search.  In  the  meantime  Louis  as- 
cended to  the  deserted  council-chamber  off  the  (Eil-de-Bceuf , 
threw  off  coat,  hat,  and  gloves,  and  pounded  on  the  bell  for 
some  one  to  remove  his  boots.  A  valet  came,  together  with 
the  unhappy  announcement  that  M.  de  Berryer  was  in 
Paris — had  been  there,  indeed,  since  yesterday  morning — 


84          The   House   of  de  Mailly 

on  important  business.  Louis  fell  into  one  of  his  silent 
rages,  despatched  a  document  commanding  the  instant 
return  of  the  Chief  of  Police  to  his  side,  growled  an  order  to 
serve  his  dinner  to  him  alone  where  he  was,  and  sank  into 
his  official  chair  at  the  great  table  in  a  fit  of  sulks  which 
lasted  him  all  day.  De  Berryer's  arrival,  at  five  o'clock  in 
the  afternoon,  elicited  the  first  gleam  of  satisfaction  from 
his  dull  eyes.  He  ordered  a  fresh  instalment  of  wine  and 
cakes,  closed  the  doors  of  the  room,  and  motioned  the  min- 
ister into  a  chair  across  the  table,  where  he  could  stare 
conveniently  into  the  small,  dark  face. 

"  Well,  Sire,  you  have  work  for  me?"  inquired  the  official, 
with  badly  concealed  irritation.  De  Berryer  had  been 
forced  to  leave  certain  matters  relative  to  the  farmers-gen- 
eral in  a  distressingly  unfinished  state  in  Paris,  had  been 
harassed  all  through  his  ride  with  details  of  the  King's 
anger,  and  finally  arrived  at  Versailles  tired,  nervous,  and 
out  of  sorts,  to  be  summoned  instantly  before  Louis,  who 
would  probably  occupy  him  till  seven  with  his  usual  tire- 
some and  fussy  budget  of  Court  intrigue,  gossip,  and  griev- 
ances. And  at  such  times  there  was  certainly  one  min- 
ister of  France  who  cordially  hated  his  position.  ' 

"You  have  work  for  me?"  repeated  de  Berryer  again. 

"Yes,  yes,  yes.  1  want  a  lettre-de-cachet  at  once,  and 
you  to  deliver  it,"  was  the  reply. 

The  poor  servant  groaned  inwardly  as  he  drew  from  his 
pocket  an  ever-ready  bunch  of  these  conveniences,  pre- 
pared for  filling  out.  "  What  name,  Sire?  It  is  immediate?" 

"Yes.  No.  Wait.  1  will  tell  you  about  it,"  respond- 
ed the  King,  leaning  comfortably  back  in  his  chair  and 
munching  a  gateau  purlaine. 

De  Berryer  passed  the  back  of  his  hand  over  his  forehead 
and  resigned  himself.  Louis  began  to  speak,  recounting 
in  a  leisurely  but  not  unentertaining  fashion  the  last  de- 
velopments of  the  affaire  de  Mailly,  as  it  was  called  at 
Court.  Presently,  despite  himself,  de  Berryer  grew  inter- 
ested in  the  tale.  He  remembered  his  last  conversation 
with  Claude  at  the  assembly,  perceived  that  the  young  man 


The   Chapel  85 

had  not  taken  his  advice,  but  had  gone  along  upon  his  own 
career  of  audacious  fidelity  to  a  foolish  cause.  On  the 
whole,  de  Berryer  rather  admired  him,  and  certainly  re- 
gretted his  approaching  fall.  Besides  this,  there  was  that 
other  amusing  phase  of  the  matter — that  of  Louis'  furious 
jealousy  of  this  two-penny  Count  for  whom  the  favorite 
doubtless  cared  not  the  least  in  the  world,  save  for  the  fresh 
fires  of  royal  devotion  that  she  could  kindle  at  his  hands. 
All  things  considered,  de  Berryer  had  spent  duller  hours 
than  this  in  his  Majesty's  presence. 

"And  now,  my  good  de  Berryer,"  finished  Louis,  more 
comfortably  than  ever,  "you  know  all.  What  shall  1  do? 
Shall  it  be  the  Bastille  for  a  couple  of  years?  Hein  ?" 

"  No — no,  your  Majesty,"  returned  the  King's  companion, 
calmly. 

"What!" 

"  Listen,  Sire,  I  beg  of  you,  to  my  reasons.  In  the  first 
place,  la  Bastille  is  no  longer  what  it  once  was  as  a  place 
of  retirement  for  rash  members  of  the  younger  nobility. 
It  is  generally  crowded  to  the  doors.  It  is  by  no  means 
strictly  kept.  The  apartments  on  the  east  side  fairly  reek 
with  a  Court  atmosphere.  All  day  long  there  is  a  continual 
stream  of  visitors  for  the  prisoners,  who  keep  quite  as  much 
in  touch  with  the  times  as  though  they  dwelt  in  the  (Eil- 
de-Boeuf .  1  assure  you  the  reputation  of  a  Court  gallant 
is  not  complete  till  he  has  lived  a  month  or  two  in  that 
old  fortress.  M.  de  Mailly's  fame  would  be  greatly  en- 
hanced during  his  residence  there,  and  it  would  be  by  no 
means  unusual  were  Mme.  de  Chateauroux  herself  to  visit 
him." 

The  King  blasphemed  below  his  breath,  and  the  minister 
smiled  covertly. 

"Precisely  so,  your  Majesty.  No,  it  is  not  bolt,  bar, 
and  stone  walls  to  foment  his  passion  that  our  young  Count 
needs.  On  the  contrary,  it  is  space,  time,  other  courts, 
other  women,  new  comrades  —  in  fine,  a  second  case  of 
d'Agenois — that  will  fit  the  amorous  M.  de  Mailly.  He — " 

"Bravo,  bravo,  de    Berryer!     Excellent,  by  my  faith  1 


86  The  House   of  de  Mailly 

It  is  enough.  Wait."  Louis  touched  his  bell,  and  a 
lackey  appeared. 

"More  candles  for  the  table." 

Lights  were  brought  and  set  before  the  minister,  who 
drew  from  a  drawer  in  the  table  some  paper,  quills,  a  sand- 
box, wax,  and  the  small  seal. 

"Write!"  commanded  the  King. 

"And  the  delivery,  Sire,  shall  take  place — when?" 

"To-morrow  morning,  in  the  chapel,  after  mass." 

De  Berryer  frowned.  "Your  Majesty  is  a  second  Mo- 
liere,"  he  observed,  politely. 

Louis,  holding  a  glass  of  Burgundy  to  the  light,  bowed 
thanks. 

To  the  delight  of  the  pale  puppet  -  queen,  Marie 
Leczinska,  Louis,  on  Wednesday  morning,  came  to  her 
apartments  in  the  best  of  humors,  to  conduct  her  in  person 
to  mass  in  Mansard's  famous  chapel.  It  was  an  unwritten 
law  in  this  sanctuary  that  husbands  and  wives,  not  a  few 
of  whom  had  seen  each  other  for  the  first  time  at  the  altar 
here,  but  had  no  cause  to  love  it  the  more  on  that  account, 
should  sit  together.  Their  Majesties,  with  Mesdames 
Henriette  and  Adelaide,  and  Monseigneur,  the  young, 
Jesuitical  Dauphin,  set  the  example  by  appearing  en  familh 
in  the  front  space.  Behind  them  sat  those  of  the  Queen's 
ladies  who  were  unmarried  or  widowed,  together  with  all 
the  demoiselles  d'honneur,  presided  over  by  the  unbending 
Duchesse  de  Boufflers,  who,  in  spite  of  herself,  could  not 
prevent  the  glances  that  passed  between  this  delightful 
bevy  and  the  company  of  gallants  across  the  aisle. 
Mme.  de  Chateauroux,  here  always  sombrely  dressed, 
excited  no  comment.  Claude  de  Mailly,  alone,  out  of  the 
whole  Court,  chose  his  place  with  reference  to  her ;  and  in 
this  place  to-day,  as  usual,  he  sat,  his  head  on  his  hand, 
dreamily  listening  to  the  chanting  of  the  choir,  and  the  low 
intoning,  mingling  the  incense  of  his  earthly  but  none  the 
less  pure  adoration  with  that  which  ascended  from  the 
golden  censer  to  a  higher  heaven. 


The   Chapel  87 

Mme.  de  Chateauroux  was  pale  to-day.  More  than 
one  person  had  already  noted  that  fact,  and  remarked 
it  to  a  neighbor.  If  Claude  were  whiter  about  the  temples 
and  lips  than  she,  none  but  Henri,  beside  him,  knew  it. 
Never  once  throughout  the  service  did  madame  turn  to 
answer  the  unwavering  look  that  seemed  as  if  it  must 
draw  her  cold  blue  eyes  by  very  force  about  to  answer  it. 
But  Louis'  smooth,  satin  back  was  within  reach  of  her 
hand.  She  could  almost  stir  his  loosely  tied  locks  with 
her  breath.  She  felt  Claude's  presence  with  rare  discom- 
fort. The  knowledge  of  his  danger  was  crying  to  her 
conscience  painfully;  but  she  could  not  speak,  and  her 
eyes  must  keep  their  place. 

Behind  the  de  Maillys,  Marquis  and  Count,  Victorine 
de  Coigny,  pale  also,  great-eyed,  and  small,  sat  beside 
her  tall  husband,  who,  though  he  stared  steadily  at  the 
altar,  failed  to  make  a  single  response,  and  no  more  knew 
the  subject  of  the  address  than  did  his  wife,  whose  thoughts 
were  wandering  in  far  and  fair  new  places. 

Mass,  to  the  relief  of  every  one  present  save,  possibly, 
Marie  Leczinska  and  her  son,  came  presently  to  an  end. 
In  a  measured  press  the  many-colored  throng  passed  down 
the  aisle  after  the  sovereigns,  bowing,  chatting,  shrugging, 
smiling,  retailing  the  last  bit  of  gossip  as  they  might  do 
to-day,  happy  in  the  knowledge  that  twenty-four  hours 
intervened  between  them  and  the  next  chapel.  Mme. 
de  Chateauroux,  who,  to  the  end,  had  resolutely  avoided 
her  cousin's  entreaty,  was  among  the  last  to  set  forth  for 
less  depressing  apartments,  surrounded,  as  usual,  by  a 
group  of  the  King's  gentlemen.  Behind  her,  aimless, 
objectless,  speaking  to  few,  addressed  by  many,  for  a 
high  interest  centred  around  him  now,  went  Claude, 
with  Henri  still  close  beside  him.  They  arrived  together 
at  the  door,  and  Mailly-Nesle,  a  pace  ahead,  was  whis- 
pering a  compliment  into  the  ear  of  Mme.  de  Coigny,  when 
a  light  hand  fell  upon  Claude's  shoulder.  The  young  fel- 
low started  under  the  touch  as  though  thrilled  with  a  sud- 
den presentiment.  The  Count  de  Maurepas  was  beside  him. 


88  The  House   of  de  Mailly 

"Be  so  good  as  to  come  back  with  me  for  an  instant, 
monsieur/'  whispered  the  minister. 

Claude  turned  and  placed  himself  beside  the  other. 
They  waited  together  till  the  last  stragglers  had  left  the 
chapel.  Dim  light,  and  silence  that  was  a  relief,  fell 
about  them.  Up  at  the  far  end  of  the  room  an  acolyte 
was  extinguishing  the  candles  at  the  altar.  Then  de 
Mailly  quietly  faced  his  companion. 

"  What  is  it  that  you  want?"  he  asked. 

"This,  M.  de  Mailly.  Believe  me — I  regret — exceed- 
ingly— my  duty.  M.  de  Berryer,  however,  requested — " 

Without  further  ado  Claude  took  from  Maurepas'  hand 
the  letter  that  he  held,  with  its  dangling  brown  seal. 

"  You  choose  an  odd  place  for  its  delivery,"  he  remarked, 
as  he  unfolded  the  paper. 

De  Maurepas,  to  whom  his  good  friend,  the  Chief  of 
Police,  had  intrusted  this  unpleasant  task,  slightly  bowed. 
He  was  watching  the  man  beside  him,  the  new  royal  victim, 
the  gentleman  who  had  been  his  companion  in  so  many 
places,  at  so  many  times,  for  years.  He  saw  Claude  read 
that  short,  polite,  rather  suave  missive,  which  gave  small 
reason  for  its  being,  but  made  the  gravity  of  its  threat 
perfectly  apparent  in  royal  language.  Claude  read  it 
twice,  quite  through,  to  the  last  word,  the  signature. 
Then  his  hand  fell  heavily  to  his  side,  and  the  paper 
dropped  to  the  floor.  Maurepas  stooped  to  pick  it  up,  but 
some  one  else  was  quicker  than  he.  Henri  de  Mailly, 
returning  in  search  of  his  cousin,  had  stood  for  a  full 
minute  unnoticed  on  the  threshold.  Now,  retaining  the 
letter,  he  turned  a  questioning  gaze  towards  the  pair. 
Maurepas  failed  to  meet  his  eyes ;  but  Claude  smiled. 

"  1  am  starting  soon  upon  a  journey,  Henri,"  he  remark- 
ed. "  Monsieur  le  Comte,  may  I  request  that  you  convey 
my  farewells  to  his  Majesty,  since  I  have  not  the  honor 
to  bid  him  au  revoir  in  person?  Permit  me  to  wish  you  a 
good-morning." 

Claude  bowed  bravely,  but  ungracefully  enough,  and 
looked  towards  the  Marquis.  His  lips  were  dry,  his  cheeks 


The    Chapel  89 

suddenly  flushed,  his  eyes  very  bright.  Henri  under- 
stood the  look,  and  passed  with  him  out  of  the  chapel. 
De  Maurepas  was  left  alone  to  gaze  after  them.  When 
they  were  gone  he  shifted  his  position  slightly,  but  made 
no  move  to  leave  the  room.  Presently  de  Berryer  ap- 
peared from  the  vestibule  and  joined  him. 

"I  saw  them  go,"  he  said.  "How  did  he  take  it?" 
Maurepas  shook  his  head.  "I  am  not  certain,  but  I 
think  it  was  hard  for  him.  I  imagine  that  he  was  not 
very  sure  of  what  he  did.  He  asked  me  to  say  '  au  revoir ' 
to  the  King.  Bah!  You  might  have  done  this  yourself, 
de  Berryer.  I  don't  like  such  work." 

"And  do  you  think,  Monsieur  le  Comte,  that  I  like  it 
better?"  queried  the  King's  favorite  minister,  with  a 
weary  frown. 


CHAPTER  VI 

Claude's  Farewell 

N  the  morning  of  Thursday,  January  2ist, 
when  a  feeble  ray  of  sunlight  first  straggled 
into  the  window  of  Claude's  room  on  the 
Avenue  de  St.  Cloud,  in  the  town  of  Ver- 
sailles, it  fell  upon  an  early  company  of  four 
men  engaged  in  an  unwonted  occupation.  Upon  the  can- 
opied bed,  half  dressed,  unwigged,  powderless,  sat  Claude, 
directing,  with  some  animation,  the  movements  of  two 
men,  his  own  valet  and  Henri's,  one  of  whom  stood  be- 
fore an  oaken  wardrobe,  while  the  other  knelt  upon  the 
floor  beside  a  travelling  coffer  of  brown  hide,  studded  with 
brass  nails.  At  some  distance  from  these  three,  by  a 
table,  was  the  Marquis,  quite  dressed,  his  head  leaning  on 
his  hand,  watching  operations  in  silence.  Now  and  then 
he  turned  his  eyes  to  the  face  of  his  cousin,  while  for  the 
rest  of  the  time  they  wandered  about  the  disordered  room. 
Henri's  face  was  unusually  pale  to-day,  and  under  his 
eyes  lay  shadows  of  sleeplessness.  His  mouth  was  set 
firmly,  and  the  hand  that  hung  by  his  side  was  clenched. 

Certainly  the  room  was  in  a  state.  All  about  it,  on 
every  chair,  on  the  bureau,  the  desk,  the  tabourets,  and 
upon  the  floor,  lay  clothes — court-suits,  riding-suits,  hunt- 
ing-suits, every-day  suits,  dressing-gowns,  boots,  shoes, 
slippers,  long  stockings  of  silk  and  of  thread,  laces,  ruffles, 
fine  linen  shirts,  undergarments,  wigs,  a  peruke,  two 
swords,  hats,  cloaks,  gauntlets — every  article  known  to 
the  masculine  wardrobe  of  that  day.  From  the  various 
heaps  Claude,  by  means  of  a  riding-whip  which  he  held, 
designated  what  he  wished  packed,  Chaumelle  would 


Claude's  Farewell  91 

pick  it  out  and  carry  it  to  Rochard,  who  folded  it  and 
placed  it,  with  melancholy  care,  in  the  little  coffer. 

"  I  must  have  one  court-suit,  but  I  vow  I'll  take  no  more. 
Which  shall  it  be,  Henri — the  peach-colored  or  the  white 
satin?  Speak,  man!" 

The  Marquis,  with  an  effort,  raised  his  head.  "  Both. 
You  will  need  the  white  one  for  your  wedding." 

Claude  stared  at  his  cousin  for  an  instant,  and  his  lips 
twitched  with  laughter.  Then,  with  a  sudden  change  of 
expression,  he  pulled  from  his  breast,  where  it  had  lain  all 
night,  the  letter  that  Maurepas  had  delivered  to  him.  He 
had  not  read  it  since  leaving  the  chapel. 

"  Owing  to  certain  circumstances  which  of  late  have  had  the  mis- 
fortune greatly  to  displease  S.  M.,  the  King  desires  to  inform  Count 
Claude  Vincent  Armand  Victor  de  Nesle  de  Mailly  that  the  absence 
of  the  Count  from  the  chateau  and  city  of  Versailles  after  the  noon 
of  Friday,  January  22d,  in  this  year  of  1744,  will  be  desirable  to  S.  M.  ; 
and  that  after  the  first  day  of  the  month  of  February,  Monsieur  the 
Count,  if  he  has  not  already  crossed  the  line  of  the  French  Kingdom, 
would  of  necessity  be  placed  under  the  escort  of  one  of  his  Majesty's 
officers.  The  King  wishes  Monsieur  the  Count  a  delightful  journey, 
and  begs  further  to  add  that  when  monsieur  shall  desire  to  present 
Madame  la  Comtesse  his  wife  to  their  Majesties  at  Versailles,  his  re- 
turn to  his  present  abode  will  be  most  pleasing  to 

"  Louis  R." 

As  Claude  for  the  second  time  perused  this  curious  letter 
his  face  darkened,  and,  at  the  last  lines,  flushed. 

"1  heard  your  ' au  revoir'  sent  to  his  Majesty,"  observed 
Henri,  "and,  after  I  read  the  dismissal,  1  understood  it. 
You  will  discover  some  pretty  child  in  Madrid  or  Vienna.  In 
six  months  you  will  be  back  again  with  her  for  presenta- 
tion ;  and  here  she  will  quickly  find  some  marquis  or  duke 
for  cavalier,  while  you  return  again  with  your  rashness  to 
the  little  apartments." 

The  Marquis  spoke  these  words  by  no  means  in  raillery, 
but  with  such  a  tone  of  solemn  prophecy  that  Claude  turned 
a  serious  and  questioning  gaze  upon  his  cousin.  Then  he 
shook  his  head. 

"  Do  you,  indeed,  Henri,  think  so  ill  of  me  as  that?  Should 


92  The  House   of  de   Mailly 

I,  by  such  a  loveless  bargain,  dishonor  myself  and  the  wo- 
man who  bore  my  name?  What  of  the  shame  to  me  in  bring- 
ing such  a  one,  unprotected  even  by  my  affection,  to  this 
Court  of  Versailles,  of  all  places  on  earth ;  to  plunge  her 
into  the  life  that  she  would  find  here?  You  would  run  me 
through  for  a  deed  like  that.  Besides,  I  am  going  from 
here  to  no  Court.  I  leave  by  post  to-morrow  for  Flanders — 
Antwerp,  or  some  seaport.  And  after,  unless  1  travel 
in  the  Low  Countries  and  up  into  Sweden,  1  have  a  mind 
to  turn  to  strange  places.  Perhaps  1  shall  sail  for  America. ' ' 

"Ah,  Claude,  it  is  too  far!  Where  wouldst  thou  go? 
To  our  colony  of  Louisiana,  or  the  settlements  of  the  South 
coast — the  flower-land  that  is  pestered  with  Spanish  and 
English  pirates?  Be  sane,  my  Claude.  Remain  nearer 
home.  Surely  some  day  you  will  return  to  us.  Think, 
think  of  the  homesickness.  Without  thee  here,  Claude,  I 
—  I — "  Henri  went  no  further.  His  voice  had  broken, 
and  he  suddenly  hid  his  face  in  his  hands  and  bent  over 
the  table. 

The  Count  sprang  from  the  bed,  crying  roughly  to  the 
two  servants  to  continue  their  work.  Then,  standing  by 
the  chair  of  Mailly-Nesle,  he  put  both  hands  affectionately 
on  the  two  bent  shoulders. 

"  Henri,  look  at  me.  Thou  shalt  not  take  it  in  this  way. 
I  have  got  no  more  than  has  come  to  a  thousand  others.  I 
have  loved  too  well.  And  since  1  may  not  have  that  one 
thing  for  which  I  would  sell  the  soul  from  my  body,  'tis 
small  matter,  after  all,  where  I  live,  or  what  my  portion 
is.  Some  day  1  shall  return  hither,  doubtless — when — 
when  —  or  thou  shalt  come  to  me.  Things  may  occur, 
perhaps,  that  shall  make  all  right.  Take  courage.  Thou 
art  a  man!  There  is  no  time  for  this.  We  must  talk  to- 
gether of  many  things.  There  is  my  money,  my  rents — " 

The  Marquis  raised  his  head,  and  Claude  nodded  with 
satisfaction  to  see  that  he  was  again  in  control  of  himself. 

"'Tis  better,  hein?  Thou  krjowest,  Henri,  I  get  from 
Touraine  and  Languedoc  together  some  fifty  thousand 
livres  yearly.  1  have  made  that  suffice  me  here,  with  what 


Claude's    Farewell  93 

I  could  win  at  play.  My  debts,  as  Fortune  wills,  are  paid. 
Can  the  King  say  as  much?  What  has  paid  for  this 
life  will  stay  me  better  abroad,  in  whatsoever  land  I  may 
find  myself,  than  it  has  done  here.  How  to  receive  it — " 

"  That  shall  be  my  task,  Claude.  In  May,  as  you  have 
done,  and  again  later  in  the  year,  I  will  go  to  both  estates, 
as  I  visit  my  own.  Your  stewards  will  accept  me  as  master, 
I  imagine.  They  are  good  fellows,  both." 

"  Between  them  they  steal,  with  perfect  regularity,  seven 
thousand  yearly." 

"So  little?  They  are  not  good,  then,  but  stupid.  Mine, 
on  my  single  estate,  costs  me  ten." 

"Your  lands  nearly  double  mine." 

The  Marquis  shrugged.  "  Well — and  each  three  months 
you  will  write  to  me,  that  I  may  send  the  rents  where  you 
may  be?" 

"Yes.  I  will  burden  thee  with  news  more  often  than 
that.  Do  you  know,  my  friend,  I  have  a  mind  to  set  out 
from  Flanders  or  England  for  King  George's  colonies?  It 
has  been  said  that  the  summer  is  a  paradise  in  Virginia, 
or  in  Lord  Baltimore's  province." 

"Tis  too  far,  Claude!  Italy  or  England— well.  But 
America !  del  I  I  should  be  as  content  with  you  in  the 
moon." 

"  It  is  no  more  than  a  month's  voyage  in  fair  weather,  I 
have  heard." 

"Ay,  and  six  in  foul." 

"  Ah,  well — we'll  not  speak  of  it  now.     I — " 

"  And  the  language !  Recollect  your  love  of  the  English 
tongue." 

"  I  do  not  love  French  to-day.  I  swear  to  you  that  I  will 
perish  at  once  rather  than  go  to  swell  the  peopling  of  our 
Christian  Majesty's  damnable  colonies!" 

"  Chut !  That  is  treason.  Finish  your  selection  of  gar- 
ments there,  and  let  us  go  out  to  seek  a  dinner.  I  perish 
of  hunger." 

"  I  come,  I  come.  You  must  not  die  to-day.  Is  the  suit 
of  olive  there,  Rochard?  Then — " 


94  The  House  of  de  Mailly 

His  next  word  was  interrupted  by  a  tapping  at  the  door. 

"Umph!  Some  gossip  to  visit  you!"  growled  the  Mar- 
quis. 

Claude  drew  his  dressing-gown  about  him  and  motioned 
his  man  to  the  door.  "  Open — but  not  too  widely,"  he  said. 

Rochard  unclosed  the  door,  pushed  it  open  six  inches, 
and  peered  out.  After  a  low-voiced  colloquy  with  some 
one  outside,  he  turned  into  the  room  again,  holding  out  to 
his  master  a  note  addressed  in  a  handwriting  which  Claude 
dreamed  of.  As  he  opened  and  read  it,  the  boy  turned 
very  white.  Henri,  who  was  watching  him  closely,  hur- 
ried to  his  side. 

"What  is  it?" 

"Nothing,"  was  the  quick  reply.  "Rochard,  it — it  is 
the  valet,  is  it  not?" 

"Fouchelet,  yes,  Monsieur  le  Comte." 

"Tell  him  that— 1  will  come." 

Rochard  bowed  and  went  to  deliver  the  message. 

"Claude — Anne — Anne  has  interceded  for  you?  No. 
She  dare  not  do  that.  She  is  mad  enough  to  see  you 
again?" 

"To  say  good-bye,"  was  the  reply,  formed  with  dry  lips. 
Then  suddenly  he  cried  out,  sharply:  "Henri,  I  cannot 
go!  1  will  not  leave  her  to  that  man!  Either  1  stay  here 
to  die,  or  she  shall  come  with  me  as  my  wife.  Henri,  1 
tell  you  1  cannot  leave  her!" 

It  was  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  and  the  Duchess 
was  alone  in  her  dressing-room.  She  was  alone,  had 
been  alone  through  the  whole  morning,  refusing  ad- 
mittance to  the  usual  visitors  of  the  toilette,  in  the  hope 
that  Claude  might  come.  She  had  learned,  like  the  rest  of 
the  Court,  of  the  letter  delivered  in  the  chapel.  But  the 
reason  of  it,  which  was  so  well  known  to  her,  the  Court 
but  guessed.  Her  desire  to  speak  with  her  cousin  again  was 
unaccountably  strong,  and  she  could  not  believe  that 
he  would  make  no  effort  to  see  her — for  the  last  time. 
Nevertheless  the  hours  had  passed,  and  Claude  neither 


Claude's   Farewell  95 

sent  her  any  word  of  farewell  nor  came  himself.  She 
was  anxious,  and  she  was  bored.  The  King,  who  had 
that  morning  been  informed  that  she  was  ill,  had  gone 
hunting.  Versailles  was  deserted.  Even  Victorine  was 
at  Rambouillet.  And  so  madame,  more  restless  with 
every  passing  instant,  was  at  last  guilty  of  the  impru- 
dence of  sending  for  the  man  whose  banishment  was 
caused  by  his  having  dared  to  enter  too  closely  into  her  life. 

Her  note  finally  despatched  by  the  only  man  in  her  house- 
hold whom  she  could  trust,  she  drank  a  second  cup  of 
chocolate  and  ate  a  fillet  of  venison,  of  royal  shooting, 
with  some  appetite.  Afterwards,  with  the  assistance  of 
Antoinette,  she  made  one  of  her  most  careful  neglige 
toilets,  in  which  the  carelessness  was  obviously  becoming. 
Htr  dress  was  entirely  of  white.  She  wore  not  a  single 
jewel,  wiped  off  every  trace  of  rouge,  took  the  ornaments 
from  her  hair,  and  brushed  its  powdery  locks  till  the  bright 
gold  lay  in  natural  waves  about  her  neck,  and  Mme. 
de  Chateauroux  had  become  as  beautiful  as  flattery  itself 
could  have  painted  her.  She  was,  at  this  time,  nearly 
seven  and  twenty  years  of  age.  Her  face  was  still  young, 
but  her  manner  was  old — older  than  that  of  the  King. 
She  had  acquired  long  ago  the  carriage  of  a  King's  con- 
sort, and  that  was,  indeed,  a  role  which  she  had  played 
so  much  that  it  had  become  a  natural  part  of  herself.  She 
had  faced  difficult  situations  since  her  childhood;  and 
never,  save  once  with  her  dead  father  and  once  with  her 
husband,  the  old  Marquis  de  la  Tournelle,  had  she  lost 
control  of  herself  and  of  the  affair  in  hand.  It  had  made 
her  too  self-confident  in  appearance — a  fact  which  she 
realized,  but  could  not  change.  She  would  have  liked 
to-day  to  play  a  younger  part  with  Claude,  but  she  sighed 
and  shook  her  head  as  Antoinette  finally  tied  back  the 
shining  hair  with  a  white  ribbon,  and  the  grand  manner 
descended  upon  her  like  a  pall. 

It  was  now  a  full  half -hour  since  she  had  sat  in  the 
little  room,  waiting,  and  looking  out  upon  the  bleak  court- 
yard below  her  window.  She  had  ceased  to  think,  and 


96  The  House   of  de  Mailly 

her  appearance  was  that  of  a  statue  in  marble,  when 
Antoinette  softly  pushed  open  the  door  of  her  room  and 
allowed  a  cloaked  and  hatted  figure  to  pass  in.  The  door 
closed  again  after  the  entrance,  and  at  the  same  time 
there  was  a  little  click  from  the  antechamber  beyond, 
as  the  faithful  maid  locked  the  door  that  opened  upon  the 
great  corridor.  In  the  boudoir  of  the  favorite  two  people 
were  alone. 

With  a  slight  movement  of  the  shoulders  Claude  dropped 
his  enveloping  mantle  upon  a  chair  behind  him,  and 
threw  his  hat  down  upon  it  also.  Then,  impulsively, 
he  turned  towards  his  cousin,  as  though  upon  the  spot 
he  would  have  taken  her  in  his  arms  and  told  her  all  that 
he  had  come  to  say.  But  there  was  something  in  her 
attitude  that  stopped  him — something  that  even  forced 
him  back  a  pace  from  his  advance.  As  a  matter  of  fact 
the  Duchess  meant  to  be  herself  mistress  of  the  scene, 
and,  having  no  idea  of  Claude's  ill  advised  intent,  she 
seated  herself  quietly  on  a  chair  with  her  back  to  the  drawn 
window-curtain,  and,  with  a  gesture  peculiar  to  herself, 
bade  him  draw  a  tabouret  to  her  knee.  He  went  to  her 
obediently,  looking  at  her  with  repressed  expectation  in 
his  white  face.  After  an  instant's  hesitation  she  said, 
slowly : 

"And  so,  my  poor  Claude,  it  is  come  to  the  end." 

His  reply  was  quick.  "No,  Anne.  It  is  not  the  end 
yet." 

"What!  What  are  you  saying?  You  are  exiled, 
Claude." 

"  Ah,  yes.     The  King  told  you  that. " 

"  It  was  not  the  King  told  me  that.  Do  you  mean  that 
the  story  of  the  letter  of  banishment  is  not  true?" 

Claude  was  silent. 

"Why  do  you  say  it  is  not  the  end?" 

"Because,  Anne,  I  mean  that  for  me  it  shall  be  the 
beginning." 

"Of  what?" 

"Of  freedom — of  life — of  love." 


Claude's   Farewell  97 

"Love!" 
"Yes." 

The  Duchess  was  puzzled.  She  drew  slightly  away 
from  him.  "  Then  there  is  some  one — some  one  of  whom 
I  know  nothing." 

"Yes,  Anne,  some  one  of  whom  you  know  nothing. 
Would  you  hear  who  it  is?  No,  remain  where  you  are! 
That  some  one  whom  I  love,  whom  I  have  come  to  to-day, 
with  whom  now  1  am  going  to  plead  for  life,  is  your  real 
self.  You  have  forgotten  it  in  life  here,  my  Anne.  You 
have  forgotten,  in  the  midst  of  your  estate,  in  the  midst 
of  the  Court  ways,  what  you  were  before  all  that  was  part 
of  you.  Listen.  We  played  together,  you  and  1,  and 
Alexandre  and  Henri,  and  Louise  and  Pauline,  in  the 
gardens  of  the  old  chateau,  by  the  river-bank,  and  through 
the  forest.  We  were  the  youngest,  you  and  I.  Alexan- 
dre was  our  leader,  and  we  obeyed  him  as  our  general. 
1  liked  you  then  better  than  the  other  girls,  though  you 
always  mocked  at  me  for  a  baby,  while  Louise  was  gentle, 
and  Pauline  always  in  difficulty.  And  after — we  separat- 
ed, all  of  us.  You  were  sent  to  the  Ursulines,  1  to  Lan- 
guedoc  with  a  tutor,  Alexandre  to  Paris.  It  was  there 
in  the  old  Hotel  de  Mailly,  at  Alexandre 's  wedding  with 
Louise,  that  again  we  came  together.  Ah,  Anne,  Anne, 
I  think  you  have  not  forgotten  what  followed!  The  first 
scandal,  Alexandre 's  death,  Louise's  life  in  the  little  apart- 
ments, how  the  King  grew  weary,  how  little  Pauline  was 
brought  from  her  convent,  how  she,  too,  was  sacrificed 
to  infamy,  and  how  she  died — how  she  was  murdered, 
Anne,  you — " 

"Stop,  Claude!" 

"Not  yet.  Pauline  was  murdered,  I  say  —  poisoned, 
in  her  sickness.  And  then,  Anne,  then  the  way  was 
opened  for  you  by  Mme.  de  Mazarin's  death.  How  should 
the  rest  of  us  have  guessed — your  father,  I,  Henri,  already 
unhappy  with  Mme.  de  Mailly-Nesle — how  should  we  have 
guessed  that  you,  too,  should  have  followed  in  the  foot- 
steps of  your  sisters?  Mon  Dieu,  Anne!  In  your  widow- 
7 


98          The  House   of  de  Mailly 

hood,  after  Maurepas  took  the  Hotel  Mazarin,  Henri's 
house  was  open  to  you.  Why  did  you  choose  instead 
to  put  yourself  under  the  protection,  not  of  the  Queen,  not 
of  Louise,  but  of  his  Majesty?  And  then — the  end  was 
so  swift.  You  drove  Louise  pitilessly  away — you  ruined 
d'Agenois  with  your  coquetries — you  infatuated  the  King 
with  your  daring  and  your  loftiness;  your  title  was  be- 
stowed; you  reigned;  and  then  comes  the  last:  my  his- 
tory with  you.  I  know  your  life,  Anne,  from  its  beginning 
to  to-day.  You  know  what  my  feeling  has  always  been. 
And  now,  when  1  am  so  nearly  at  the  end  of  hope,  you  would 
have  me  make  no  resistance  to  fate;  you  would  have  me 
acquiesce ;  you  would  have  me  bid  you  good-bye  with  de 
G£vres'  manner,  and  depart,  quietly.  1  have  right  to 
more  than  that." 

"  All  this  is  well  enough  if  you  wish  it,  little  one.  Neither 
do  those  long  'recollections'  of  thine  disturb  me,  save 
that  they  are  very  stupid,  my  Claude.  But  now,  how 
shall  you  continue?  Are  there  yet  more  of  them?"  Evi- 
dently the  Duchess  was  not  overpleased  with  the  inter- 
view, so  far. 

"1  have  done  with  the  recollections,  but  I  have  more 
to  say,"  returned  the  boy,  undaunted  by  her  manner. 
"I  have  something  to  say  which,  once  before,  you  have 
heard,  but  which  you  shall  listen  to  again.  It  is  why  1 
obeyed  your  note.  In  other  case  1  should  have  left  Ver- 
sailles without  seeing  you.  It  is  something  that  I  am 
going  to  offer  you,  something  that  I  have  to  give  that 
is  not  elsewhere,  I  think,  to  be  found  in  Versailles.  You 
will  seek  long,  Anne,  before  you  find  it  again.  It  is  some- 
thing that  you,  and  every  woman  about  you,  make  light 
of  daily;  and  yet  it  is  what  women — ay,  and  men — sell 
their  souls  for." 

"Love,"  murmured  Madame  la  Duchesse,  absently. 

"  Yes,  it  is  love — my  love,  that  I  have  to  give.  Anne, 
to  you,  here,  being  as  you  are ;  what  you  are ;  belonging 
to  none  who  has  the  right  to  guard  you ;  paid  with  much 
gold,  it  is  true,  yet  with  false  gold ;  puppet-queen,  without 


Claude's   Farewell  99 

real  honor  in  any  heart,  your  name  a  byword  in  many 
countries — " 

"Ah!     Ah!     You   insult—" 

"  /  speak  truth !  You  know  that.  To  you,  I  say,  who 
have  so  little  of  love,  none  of  real  honor,  1  offer  all.  1 
offer  you  marriage,  a  name  unstained,  a  pure-hearted 
devotion,  a  life  that  shall  be  pure —  Ah,  now,  Anne,  now, 
I  am  making  you  feel!  There.  Do  not  turn  from  me. 
No,  no.  Listen !  1  did  not  mean  it.  Forget  what  1  have 
said — forgive  it.  Think  only  of  how  1  have  suffered. 
Think  how  utterly  1  love  you ;  how  1  am  a  man  desperate. 
My  wrhole  existence,  my  heart,  my  mind,  my  hopes,  are 
here  at  your  feet.  Crush  them  —  you  kill  me.  You 
cannot  spurn  all.  To  leave  you  is  to  enter  a  living  death. 
But — but — you  must  know  what  love  means!  It  means 
that  my  soul  belongs  to  you;  that  in  you,  for  you,  only, 
forever,  1  live.  How,  then,  can  you  let  me  go  from  you? 
You  will  be  tearing  the  heart  from  my  body.  You  know 
that  all  my  life — it  has  been  you.  Had  I  ever  cared  for 
another,  it  would  not  have  mattered  so.  Anne — "  he  was 
upon  his  knee — "Anne — you  shall  come  with  me!  You 
shall  come  away  with  me — into  the  sweetest  exile  that 
ever  man  was  blessed  with.  Why,  look  you,  1  take  you 
from  a  palace,  but  1  will  give  you  that  which  1  shall  trans- 
form to  paradise !  Oh,  my  dear — my  dear — 1  can  say  no 
more.  Anne,  Anne,  1  die  for  you!" 

Both  her  hands  were  in  his,  clasped  so  tightly  that  she 
was  pained.  Much  of  the  force  of  his  passion  had  entered 
into  her.  It  could  not  but  do  so,  for  it  was  too  real.  She 
was  trembling ;  her  breath  came  unsteadily,  and  she  could 
not  give  her  answer  with  his  upturned  eyes  upon  her. 
Gently,  very  gently,  she  pushed  him  aside,  rose  from 
her  chair,  and,  turning  away  from  him,  began  to  pace 
the  end  of  the  room,  steadying  herself  as  she  walked. 
De  Mailly,  a  little  dazed  now,  the  reaction  from  his  nervous 
strain  already  beginning  to  overcome  him,  passed  slowly 
to  the  opposite  side  of  the  dressing-room  and  stood  there 
with  his  back  to  the  door,  one  cold  hand  pressed  to  his 


ioo        The  House   of  de  Mailly 

damp  forehead.  His  face  was  deathly  white.  His  body 
quivered.  Presently  madame  stopped,  in  her  walk,  be- 
fore her  cabinet  of  toys,  opened  one  little  drawer,  and 
took  something  therefrom.  Then  she  went  over  to  where 
her  cousin  was  standing,  and,  with  an  effort,  spoke : 

"Thank  you,"  she  said,  dreamily,  "for  what  you  have 
said  to  me.  May  God,  in  his  goodness,  bless  you,  little 
cousin.  You  know  that  it  is  all  useless,  what  you  wish. 
Some  day  you  will  be  glad  that  my  place  was  here — that 
1  knew  that  1  was  not  fit  for  you.  Remember  it.  I  am 
not  fit  for  you.  You  spoke  truth  at  first.  See,  I  grant 
you  all  that.  You  must  go  your  way  alone.  Such  as 
I  could  not  make  you  happy.  1 — give  you  only  this — 
if  you  care  to  take  it — for  memory.  'Tis  all  1  have.  As 
to  my  love — who  knows  what  I  love — or  where?  Adieu/' 

She  held  something  out  to  him,  something  white,  and 
heavy  with  gold  and  little  jewels.  It  was  the  mate  to 
that  gauntlet  which  he  had  won  from  her  and  given  to 
the  King  ten  days  ago.  He  took  it,  mechanically,  and 
placed  it,  almost  without  looking  at  it,  in  a  pocket.  Then 
he  picked  up  his  cloak  and  his  hat.  Slowly  he  put  both 
on ;  and,  once  more,  all  accoutred,  he  turned  to  look  at  her. 
Her  back  was  towards  him.  Her  head  was  bent.  He  could 
not  speak  coherently.  He  put  out  his  hand  and  felt  for 
the  fastening  of  the  door.  There  was  a  long,  inaudible 
sigh.  The  door  swung  open.  An  effort,  two  steps,  a 
slight  mist  before  his  eyes  —  he  was  gone.  In  the  ante- 
chamber Henri,  with  haggard  face  and  tears  unconcealed, 
waited  also  for  a  clasp  of  the  hand,  to  bid  him  godspeed 
to  his  banishment. 


JBooh  fl 
DEBORAH 


CHAPTER   I 
A  Ship   Comes   In 

LL  night  the  waters  of  the  Chesapeake  and 
those  of  the  Atlantic  beyond  had  been  tum- 
bling under  the  force  of  a  fresh  east  wind 
that  was  bearing  an  incoming  vessel  straight 
up  to  her  harbor  and  home.  But  with 
the  first  streak  of  gray  along  the  far  horizon,  Night  ceased 
to  flap  her  dusky  wings,  and  the  wind  fainted  till  it  was 
but  a  breath.  As  the  wavelets  lapped  against  the  ship's 
side,  her  captain,  longing  for  home,  shrugged  his  big 
shoulders  and  ordered  out  more  canvas. 

It  was  a  fair  dawn.  The  whole  stretch  of  sky  over  the 
bay  was  flushed  with  pink  and  beamy  with  gold;  while 
beyond  this  the  clear  greenish  turquoise  of  mid-sky  and 
the  west  grew  so  vivid  that  the  last  clinging  night-mist 
melted  away,  and  the  day  waited  only  for  the  sun.  He 
came  at  last,  a  great,  fiery  wheel,  dripping  from  a  watery 
bath  and  pouring  his  splendor  back  to  the  waters  again 
till  the  river  ran  gold,  dazzling  the  eyes  of  the  gulls  that 
veered  across  its  breast  down  to  the  bay  and  out  towards 
the  salty  sea.  And  the  sun  woke  the  forests  of  birches 
and  poplars  and  spruce,  colored  the  dandelions  in  the 
grass  all  over  again,  drank  dew  from  the  flower-cups, 
played  with  the  breeze  among  the  peach-blossoms  of  the 
orchard  on  the  bank,  and  finally  entered  into  the  quaint 
breakfast  -  room  of  a  colonial  house,  Trevor  Manor,  that 
stood  on  the  river  Severn,  three  miles  from  the  city  of 
Annapolis. 

Adam,  the  house-butler,  very  black  and  very  sleepy, 
was  in  this  small  apartment,  dusting.  From  the  next 


104        The  House   of  de  Mailly 

room  Lilith,  his  wife,  hummed,  in  a  rich  contralto,  over 
her  sweeping.  Otherwise  the  house  was  still ;  for  the  sun 
rises  early  in  May. 

The  breakfast -room  wherein  Adam  worked,  or  played 
at  work,  is  worthy  of  description,  perhaps;  for  the  colonial 
country-side  knew  nothing  just  like  it.  It  was  the  south- 
west corner  room  on  the  lower  floor,  opening  out  of  the 
library,  but  so  easily  accessible  from  the  kitchen,  which 
was  fifty  feet  from  the  house,  that  the  family  commonly 
used  it  for  all  their  meals.  The  general  Southern  fashion 
of  dining  in  the  central  hall,  from  a  custom  of  hospitality, 
had  its  drawbacks.  On  the  north  side  of  the  breakfast-room 
were  the  library  door,  a  small  buffet  covered  with  the  best 
cheynay,  some  chased  silver,  and  a  little  Venetian  glass- 
ware, the  pride  of  the  family  heart,  and,  on  the  other  side 
of  the  doorway,  a  badly  done  family  portrait.  In  the  east 
wall  was  a  large  fireplace,  with  a  mantel  above,  on  which 
stood  two  large  porcelain  jars  and  a  black  bust  of  Plato, 
over  which  hung  a  recent  print  of  his  Majesty  King  George. 
To  the  south  a  large  window  looked  out  upon  the  yard 
behind;  but  the  western  wall  of  this  little  place  was  no 
wall  at  all.  Across  the  top  of  it,  just  below  the  ceiling, 
a  grudging  support  to  the  upper  story  was  given  by  a 
heavy  oaken  beam.  Beneath  this  all  was  glass.  The 
little,  opal-like,  diamond-shaped  panes,  were  wont  to  catch 
the  rays  of  the  afternoon  sun,  and  make  the  room,  from 
noon  to  twilight,  a  blinding,  rainbow  cloud  of  light.  A 
door,  too,  there  was  here,  all  of  glass  and  bound  with  lead 
— a  real  triumph  of  craftsman's  skill  in  those  simple  days. 
It  had  been  Madame  Trevor's  idea,  however, — and  where 
was  the  workman  in  Maryland  who  would  not  have  been 
stimulated  to  inspiration  with  Madame  Trevor  to  oversee 
his  work?  The  door  opened  upon  a  terrace  which  led 
by  a  little  flight  of  steps  down  into  the  rose-garden,  or, 
by  a  diverging  path,  off  to  the  big  round  kitchen,  in  which 
last  building  the  morning  fires  had  been  lit,  and  Chloe, 
with  Phyllis,  her  scullion,  daughter,  and  probable  suc- 
cessor, was  plucking  spring  chickens  for  the  morning  meal. 


A  Ship   Comes    In  105 

Adam  and  Lilith,  their  first  tasks  ended,  were  now 
setting  the  table  in  the  breakfast  -  room,  with  table-cloth 
of  unbleached  linen,  the  ordinary  service  of  burnished 
pewter,  silver  knives,  and  carving -set  of  steel,  horn-han- 
dled. When  the  six  places  at  the  oval  table  had  been 
laid,  Lilith  disappeared  through  the  glass  door,  to  re- 
turn presently  with  a  great  platter  of  newly  picked  straw- 
berries, green-stemmed,  scarlet  and  fragrant,  and  still 
glistening  with  dew.  These  were  set  in  the  centre  of  the 
table,  while  on  either  side  stood  an  earthenware  bowl 
heaped  with  sugar,  patiently  scraped  by  Adam  from  the 
high,  hard  loaves  that  came,  wrapped  in  bright  purple 
"dye-paper,"  up  from  the  Spanish  Indies. 

The  sun  being  by  this  time  nearly  two  hours  high  in  the 
heavens,  the  breakfast-room  was  deserted  by  serving-folk 
to  regain  a  more  tranquil  tone  for  the  reception  of  its  ordi- 
nary habitants.  Through  the  open  door  came  the  breath 
of  the  May  morning,  heavy  with  the  sweetness  of  the  gar- 
den just  outside.  Plato  gazed  mildly  down  upon  the  two 
or  three  lazy  flies  that  hummed  over  the  strawberries,  and 
once  a  robin  from  the  woods  near  by  skimmed  into  the  room, 
brushed  past  the  decanters  on  the  buffet,  halted  for  a  second 
on  a  jar  near  King  George,  and  made  a  darting  exit  through 
the  open  southern  window. 

Finally,  into  the  waiting  solitude,  came  Sir  Charles — 
Sir  Charles,  tall,  slender,  graceful,  freshly  wigged  and 
powdered,  his  lieutenant's  uniform  of  scarlet  and  white 
in  harmony  with  the  morning,  the  Gentleman's  Magazine 
in  one  of  his  well-kept  hands,  an  eye-glass  on  a  silken  cord 
in  the  other.  He  seated  himself  in  an  evidently  accus- 
tomed place  at  the  table,  pushed  back  his  chair  a  little, 
comfortably  crossed  his  legs,  and  began  to  reperuse  an 
article  on  the  best  methods  of  preserving  fox-brushes, 
which  had  engaged  his  attention  the  evening  before.  He 
was  not  a  rapid  reader,  and  he  had  not  half  finished  the 
column  when  he  felt,  unmistakably,  another  presence  near 
him.  Thereupon  he  permitted  himself  an  unmannerly 
luxury : 


106        The  House   of  de  Mailly 


"  Good-morning,  Debby,"  he  murmured,  without  looking 
up. 

"  Good-morning,  Sir  Charles,"  was  the  reply. 

Then,  quickly  throwing  aside  his  paper,  the  young  man 
rose,  bowed  as  he  should  have  done,  and  stood  looking  at 
her  who  was  before  him. 

Deborah  stood  in  the  glass  doorway,  half  in  and  half  out 
of  the  room.  Her  face  was  slightly  flushed,  and  her  hair, 
as  usual,  in  a  state  of  delightful,  crinkly  disorder.  Other- 
wise her  appearance  was  immaculate,  and,  for  all  Sir  Charles 
could  have  told,  she  might  have  been  in  a  costume  of  bro- 
cade and  lace.  It  was  no  more,  however,  than  a  faded  blue 
and  white  homemade  linen  over  a  petticoat  of  brown  hoi- 
land,  with  a  small  white  muslin  kerchief  crossed  upon  her 
breast.  She  was  bareheaded,  and  the  hair  that  had  been 
tossed  into  a  thousand  rebellious  ringlets  was  tied  back 
with  a  blue  ribbon.  Deborah  Travis,  Sir  Charles  Fair- 
field's  second  cousin,  and  Madame  Trevor's  first,  was,  at 
this  time,  seventeen  years  old,  and  not  yet  so  pretty  as  she 
gave  promise  of  being — later.  Nevertheless,  Sir  Charles' 
poorly  concealed  devotion  in  her  direction  was  a  matter  that 
was  not  discussed  in  the  Trevor  family.  The  tongues  of 
slaves,  however,  are  seldom  bridled  among  themselves; 
and  neat  things  upon  this  interesting  topic  were  not  infre- 
quently spoken  round  cabin-fires  on  cool  evenings  in  the 
quarters. 

"  You've  quite  recovered,  I  trust,  Deborah,  from  your — 
your  indisposition  of  yesterday?" 

The  girl's  cheeks  grew  pink  as  she  answered,  quietly, 
"Quite,  thank  you,  Sir  Charles." 

"  'Twas  another  experiment  in  the  still-room?"  he  vent- 
ured. 

"Of  course,"  she  responded,  reluctantly,  and  in  a  tone 
that  finished  the  topic. 

There  was  a  pause.  The  Governor's  lieutenant  was 
finding  himself  again.  "Will  not  you  come  in,  Mistress 
Debby?"  he  said,  finally.  "Or  may  I  come  out  and  walk 
in  the  garden  a  little  with  you?" 


AShipComes    In  107 

"  Thank  you,  I  shall  come  in.  Breakfast  is  ready,  but 
the  rest  are  late." 

"And  you  have  been  in  the  still-room  all  this  while?" 

"  No,  I  have  been  in  the  twelve-acre  field,  and  as  far  as 
Hudson's  Swamp." 

"Devil  take  me!     What  were  you  doing  there?" 

"I  was  hunting  for  a  plant — but  I  could  not  get  it.  I 
brought  home  some  young  tobacco  instead." 

"Why — why — Deborah,  'tis  always  plants  with  you! 
Can  you  find  nothing  nearer  home  to  suit  your  pleasure? 
Tell  me  the  plant  you  sought,  and  1  will  hunt  for  it  to  the 
other  end  o'  Maryland,  if  you  command." 

"  Thank  you,  Sir  Charles,  but  in  a  month  I  shall  pluck 
it  for  myself,  at  the  end  of  the  huckleberry  path.  'Tis 
spotted  hemlock.  I  found  one,  young  yet,  but  well-looking, 
which  I  shall  gather  as  sooi,  as  'tis  big  enough." 

"  Spotted  hemlock !  Child,  'tis  rank  poison !  I'd  a  horse 
die  of  it  once  in — " 

He  broke  off  suddenly  and  turned  about  as  Madam 
Trevor,  with  her  younger  daughter,  Lucy,  rustled  into  the 
room.  The  elder  lady  looked  rather  sharply  from  her 
nephew  to  her  young  cousin  as  she  came  in ;  but  she  could 
read  neither  face.  Sir  Charles  bowed  with  great  respect, 
and  Deborah  gave  her  usual  demure  courtesy  for  the  morn- 
ing. Lucy  was  a  slight,  pretty  little  creature,  with  thin, 
silky  dark  hair,  lively  blue  eyes,  and  a  waist  as  trim  as 
Deborah's  own.  She  greeted  the  two  cousins  with  equal 
grace,  but  seemed  to  prefer  Deborah's  company,  drawing 
her  a  little  on  one  side  to  show  a  spindle-prick  upon  her 
finger.  Their  whispered  conversation  was  interrupted  by 
the  entrance  of  the  master  of  the  house,  Madam  Trevor's 
only  son,  Vincent.  He  was  a  well-built,  muscular  fellow, 
a  trifle  short  for  his  breadth  of  shoulder,  with  the  family's 
blue  eyes,  and  hair  so  black  that  the  powder  but  badly  con- 
cealed its  hue.  He  greeted  his  mother  with  profound  re- 
spect, lightly  kissed  his  little  sister's  cheek,  and  nodded 
to  Deborah  in  a  preoccupied  fashion.  Then,  joining 
Charles  at  the  buffet,  he  proceeded  to  mix  their  first  potation 


io8         The  House  of  de  Mailly 

of  the  day,  two  Venice  glasses  full  of  Jamaica  rum,  sugar, 
and  water.  Both  gentlemen  drank  to  the  health  of  Madam 
Trevor,  who  acknowledged  the  usual  courtesy  with  a 
slight  nod,  and  then,  seating  herself  at  the  head  of  the 
table,  drew  towards  her  the  platter  of  strawberries. 

"  We  are  not  to  wait  for  Virginia?"  asked  Vincent,  taking 
his  place. 

Madam  was  about  to  reply  when,  from  the  little  passage- 
way beyond  the  library,  came  the  crisp  rustle  of  stiff  petti- 
coats, and  Virginia  Trevor,  the  belle  of  Annapolis,  tall,  fresh 
of  complexion,  unrouged,  of  slender  figure,  and  delicate 
patrician  features,  came  smilingly  into  the  room.  The 
gentlemen  hastened  to  rise,  and  Sir. Charles  lifted  back 
her  chair. 

"Thank  you.  Your  pardon,  madam,  for  being  late. 
Amanda  was  very  slow." 

"After  your  wakefulness  of  last  night,  I  had  not  imag- 
ined that  you  would  attempt  to  rise  this  morning,"  an- 
swered her  mother. 

Virginia  glanced  at  Lucy,  and  a  half  smile  passed  between 
them.  It  was  over  before  Madam  Trevor  perceived  it. 

"Debby  was  the  sick  one  yesterday,"  observed  Lucy, 
gently.  "But  you  seem  to  be  quite  recovered  to-day," 
she  finished,  turning  to  her  cousin,  just  as  Adam  entered 
from  the  kitchen,  bearing  with  him  a  platter  of  fried  chick- 
ens, crisply  browned  and  smoking,  while  Lilith  followed 
with  hoe-cake  and  bacon. 

"Deborah's  illness  appears  to  be  a  matter  of  her  own 
choice,"  remarked  Madam  Trevor,  with  displeasure  in 
her  tone.  "  She  has  been  warned  of  the  dangers  of  her 
strange  and  useless  experiments.  If  she  chooses  to  go 
her  way  against  all  advice,  she  must  accept  the  conse- 
quences of  such  folly." 

Deborah  was  silent,  and  appeared  unconcerned  at  the 
reproof.  Virginia,  however,  rather  unwisely,  spoke  in  her 
favor.  "Indeed,  Debby 's  experiments  would  seem  to  me 
most  useful,  mother.  You  yourself  say  that  no  one  about 
Annapolis  can  make  such  rose  and  lavender  water,  or  distil 


—    A  Ship  Gomes  In  109 

such  cordials  and  strong  waters  as  she.  The  still-room, 
too,  is  a  different  place  since  she  was  given  charge  over  it." 

"  1  was  not  of  the  opinion,  Virginia,  that  Deborah's  ill- 
ness resulted  either  from  rose-water  or  from  cordial.  And, 
as  to  the  still-room,  who  enters  it  to  know  how  it  may  be 
kept?" 

"  Madam  Trevor,  I  have  never  refused  entrance  to  any 
one  of  the  family  or  the  slaves  who  has  wished  to  enter 
the  room  you  gave  me  charge  over!  Indeed,  Lucy — " 

"  That  is  enough,  Deborah." 

Sir  Charles  Fairfield,  though  to  all  appearances  he  had 
not  been  listening  to  the  short  conversation,  flushed  a  lit- 
tle at  the  manner  in  which  it  was  ended,  and,  raising  his 
voice,  he  addressed  Vincent : 

"  Will  you  ride  into  town  with  me  to-day?  I've  not  wait- 
ed on  his  Excellency  for  a  week.  On  my  life!  they  give 
us  an  easy  time  out  here !  Fancy  a  full-pay  staff -officer  at 
home,  in  camp,  not  seeing  his  colonel  for  a  week !  I  must 
really  ride  in  to-day.  Come  with  me,  Vincent,  and  see 
what  idea  there  is  of  a  chase  next  week." 

Vincent  poured  out  another  tankard  of  quince-cider  and 
slowly  shook  his  head :  "  'Tis  not  possible  to-day,  Charles. 
They  are  just  beginning  to  top  the  tobacco.  I  am  going 
over  all  the  farther  fields  with  Thompson — and  there  are 
three  new  blacks  to  be  graded.  If  you'll  go  to-morrow, 
I'll  ride  with  you;  but  not  to-day." 

"  Pa 'don,  Mas'  Trev' !"  cried  a  black  boy,  in  house  livery, 
who  came  running  in  from  the  front.  "  Docta'  Caw'l  and 
Mist'  Cawlve't  outside  on  the'  ho'ses,  an'  say,  can  they 
come  in?" 

"Mr.  Calvert!"  cried  Lucy. 

"  Go  to  meet  them  and  bring  them  here  at  once,  Vincent," 
commanded  Madam  Trevor,  at  the  same  time  sounding  a 
hand-bell  for  Adam  and  Lilith. 

Vincent  and  Charles  together  hurried  out  of  the  room, 
while  the  ladies  drew  more  closely  together  at  the  table, 
and  two  extra  places  were  laid. 

"  Bring  some  fresh  chicken  and  hot  bacon  and  hoe-cake 


iio        The  House    of  de  Mailly 

at  once,  Adam;  and  have  Chloe  fry  some  oysters  and  tap 
a  barrel  of  apple-jack." 

The  slaves  scurried  away  to  the  kitchen  again  as  the 
sound  of  deep  masculine  voices  was  heard  in  the  library. 
The  guests  entered  the  breakfast-room  side  by  side,  and 
the  four  ladies  rose  to  greet  them;  Madam  Trevor  first, 
with  her  daughters  just  behind  her,  and  Deborah,  with 
suddenly  eager  eyes,  a  little  to  one  side. 

Dr.  Charles  Carroll,  father  of  "  Mr.  Carroll,  of  Carrollton," 
foremost  Whig  and  Catholic  in  Annapolis,  always  in  dis- 
favor with  the  Governor  officially,  and  excellent  friends 
with  him  of  a  Saturday  night,  forty-five  years  old,  wealthy, 
bluff,  a  little  gray  under  his  bag-wig,  booted,  spurred, 
fresh  of  color,  and  bright  of  eye,  greeted  his  old  friend  and 
mentor,  Madam  Trevor,  with  hearty  good-humor.  Beside 
him  was  Benedict  Calvert,  a  son  of  the  Lord  Proprietary, 
but  Protestant  bred;  Whig  by  preference,  slender,  hand- 
some, unusually  dignified,  and  quite  unaffected.  After 
the  various  salutations  the  entire  party  reseated  them- 
selves at  table,  and  the  guests,  hungry  after  their  early 
canter,  helped  themselves  without  stint  to  the  freshly  cooked 
food  brought  in  for  them.  The  doctor  had  placed  himself, 
as  usual,  by  Deborah,  who  was  all  attention  now;  while 
Mr.  Calvert,  with  a  sympathetic  smile  of  understanding 
and  good-comradeship,  was  by  Lucy,  with  his  hostess  on 
the  other  side. 

"And  now,  madam,  young  ladies,  Sir  Charles,  and  our 
host,"  cried  the  doctor,  in  a  hearty  voice,  "we  are  about  to 
repay  your  hospitality  with  news,  excellent  news,  for  every 
one  of  you!" 

"Ah!  Let  us  hear  it,  doctor!"  cried  Vincent,  while  the 
others  murmured  assent. 

"Well,  then,  for  the  ladies  first!  The  Baltimore  is  in 
port,  after  a  bad  voyage.  She  sailed  from  Portsmouth 
on  the  20th  of  February.  I  was  on  the  south  piers  as 
she  came  to  anchor.  Her  cargo — or  part  of  it — is  all  for 
feminine  ears  to  hear.  She  has  with  her  the  last  fashions 
from  home,  and  the  material  to  reproduce  them.  There 


A    Ship   Comes    In  111 

are  paduasoys  and  lutestrings,  and  satins  and  laces,  and 
damasks  and  silverware,  and  cheynay  and  glass,  and  rib- 
bons and  combs,  and  shoe-buckles  and  silk  stockings,  and 
most  wonderful  garters,  I'm  told;  and — " 

"Nay,  now,  doctor,  'tis  far  enough!"  cried  Sir  Charles; 
and  the  gentlemen  laughed. 

"  Well,  then,  there  are  those  things,  and  more.  And  on  > 
the  morrow,  at  ten  of  the  morning,  there  is  to  be  a  public 
sale  on  the  docks  off  Hanover  Street,  where  he  who  has 
the  wherewithal  may  buy.  And  I  am  bidden  to  ask  you 
all  to  ride  in  and  spend  what  moneys  you  can  wrest  from 
Vincent's  hands,  and,  after,  to  come  to  my  house,  where 
Mistresses  Letitia  and  Frances  will  serve  you  with  a  fair 
widower's  dinner.  How  now — what  think  you  of  my  first 
news,  damsels?" 

"  'Tis  what  none  in  the  world  but  you  could  bring,  Dr. 
Carroll,"  replied  Madam  Trevor,  beaming  graciously. 

"And  we  may  go,  mother?"  asked  Lucy,  voicing  the 
anxiety  of  her  more  dignified  sister  and  her  silent  cousin. 

"  Yes,  we  will  go — and  our  compliments  and  thanks  to 
Mistress  Letitia  and  Mistress  Frances  for  their  asking. 
Deborah,  child,  you  must  have  tabby  for  a  new  petticoat ; 
and  I  shall  get  you  all  muslins." 

"  And  I  must  have  a  new  set  of  plumes  for — " 

"Mother,  may  I  not  have  a  flowered  paduasoy  this 
year?" 

"Come,  come,  girls!  'Tis  our  turn  now!  Surely,  doc- 
tor, you  do  not  imagine  us  interested  in  sales  of  silk  stock- 
ings and  satins?  What  is  the  news  for  us?"  asked  Vin- 
cent, with  a  slight  smile. 

Benedict  Calvert  laughed.  "Troth,  sir,  'tis  not  every 
man  that  is  so  unfeignedly  disdainful  of  silk  stockings  and 
satins,  whether  for  his  own  attire  or  for  a  lady's.  Howbeit, 
there  is  other  news  that  you  may  like  to  hear.  In  the  as- 
sembly yesterday  the  matter  of  the  commissioners  for  Lan- 
caster was  finally  settled.  Word  has  come  from  Virginia 
that  the  council  will  open  on  the  25th  of  June.  Our  men 
will  probably  leave  here  on  the  20th;  and — " 


U2         The  House   of  de  Mailly 

"I  am  elected  to  go,  devil  take  me!"  cried  Sir  Charles, 
ruefully. 

"No  such  luck.  Do  not  bemoan  thyself,  Charlie.  Not 
one  of  the  Governor's  staff,  and  only  one  official — Marshe 
— is  of  the  number,"  returned  Benedict,  grinning  broadly. 
"  'Twas  a  prudent  choice.  Not  a  Radical  on  either  side." 

"Then  the  doctor's  scarce  in,"  observed  Vincent. 

"That  am  1  not,"  returned  the  doctor  with  eminent 
good -humor.  "But  Mr.  Calvert  —  the  worshipful  Mr. 
Calvert — is;  and  so  are  Phil  Thomas,  and  the  Reverend 
Mr.  Cradock,  and  Edmund  Jennings,  and  Colvill,  and 
— ah,  yes !  Bob  King.  There,  at  least,  is  one  Radical  for 
you.  Well,  well  I  Even  such  as  they  should  manage, 
together  with  their  right  honorable  compeers  from  Vir- 
ginia and  Pennsylvania,  to  buy  the  right  of  our  colonial 
lands  from  the  Six  Nations — after  a  hundred  and  fifty 
years  of  occupancy  willy-nilly!" 

"  Quite  so.  And  now  that's  all  our  news,  Madam  Trevor. 
Does  it  equal  the  breakfast?" 

"Not  quite  all,  seeking  your  pardon!  But  the  other 
matter  is  for  the  ears  of  Mistress  Debby  here,  whom,  if 
you  will  permit  me,  madam,  I  will,  after  breakfast,  attend 
to  her  sanctum — the  still-room." 

Deborah  did  not  move.  Her  eyes  dropped,  and  sharp- 
eyed  Calvert  himself  could  not  have  guessed  the  eager- 
ness hidden  under  her  perfect  mien. 

"Deborah  has  been  too  much  with  her  drugs  of  late, 
Dr.  Carroll.  I  think  it  were  better  if  you  talked  with  her 
on  some  healthier  subject.  1  am  not  over-fond  of  her  ill- 
considered  ways.  They  are  morbid,  much  of  the  time." 

"Ah,  madam,  I  am  sorry  for  that!  1  look  forward  to 
the  consultations  with  little  Mistress  Deborah  as  the 
happiest  reminiscences  of  my  professional  days — before  I 
abandoned  physic  for  merchandise.  Your  young  cousin 
has  remarkable  talent  about  it." 

Madam  Trevor  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "If  you  put 
it  in  that  way,  Dr.  Carroll,  how  can  1  refuse  you  your 
pleasure  in  coming  to  our  plantation?  If  'tis  a  question 


A   Ship  Comes   In  113 

of  talking  with  Deborah  or  not  coming  at  all,  why — 
Deborah  is  all  at  your  service." 

"  By  my  troth,  Madam  Antoinette,  if  that  is  a  pleas- 
antry, it  is  not  one  that  1  like  overmuch.  How  could  you 
so  take  my  words?" 

"Come  now,  doctor,  hurry  on!  Conduct  the  damsel 
to  your  physicking-room,  and  I'll  wait  here.  You  forget 
that  our  road  leads  on  to  the  Kings'." 

"To  be  sure.  Well,  Debby,  let  us  be  off.  1  must  see 
your  manipulation  of  the  new  retort." 

Thereupon  the  doctor  and  his  protegee,  leaving  the 
others  still  at  table,  went  together  out  of  the  glass  door, 
down  the  path,  across  the  yard,  with  its  great  poplar-trees 
and  the  groups  of  pickaninnies  playing,  as  usual,  about 
the  high  well-sweep,  to  a  small  building  a  trifle  northeast 
of  the  cabins  and  half  hidden  in  great  lilac  bushes  that 
clustered  before  its  very  door.  This  was  Deborah's  sanc- 
tum, the  still-room;  and  into  it  she  and  her  companion 
retired. 

The  single  room  contained  three  large  windows,  through 
one  of  which  nodded  a  thick  bunch  of  purple  lilacs,  heavy 
with  perfume,  and  still  damp  with  dew.  Along  the  window- 
less  wall  of  the  room  ran  a  stout  pine  table,  on  which, 
among  various  utensils,  stood  two  chemist's  retorts,  one 
the  old  iron  alembic,  the  other  Deborah's  greatest  treasure, 
a  glass  retort  for  which  Dr.  Carroll  had  sent  to  Europe. 
In  one  corner  stood  the  charcoal  box,  a  tall,  iron  brazier 
containing  some  smouldering  coals,  and  a  keg  for  water. 

While  Deborah  built  up  her  charcoal  fire  and  carried 
the  brazier  to  the  table,  Carroll  went  over  to  a  corner 
cupboard,  opened  its  door,  and  looked  in  upon  the  five 
shelves  where,  ranged  in  orderly  rows,  stood  all  the  phials 
and  flasks  that  Deborah  had  been  able  to  collect.  Only 
a  dozen  or  so  contained  more  or  less  muddy-looking  liquids, 
and  on  each  of  these  was  pasted  a  paper  label  covered  with 
fine  writing.  One  after  another  the  doctor  picked  them 
up  and  examined  them. 

"Aha!"  he  exclaimed,  finally,  taking  the  cork  from  one, 
8 


114        The  House   of  de  Mailly 

and  smelling  the  cloudy  mixture  within.  "Aha!  You 
have  it  here!  1  thought  so.  Now,  this  is  precisely  the 
thing  that  1  should  advise." 

Deborah  went  over  to  him.  "What!  The  monks- 
hood?  'Tis  a  poor  solution.  For  want  of  pure  alcohol, 
1  had  to  use  rum." 

"No  matter.  Let  us  manipulate  this  a  bit,  Debby, 
instead  of  your  tobacco  there.  For  this  is  necessary. 
And  while  we  are  distilling  some  pure  aconitum  napellus, 
1  will  tell  you  a  little  story,  and  weave  for  you  a  prettier 
romance  than  ever  you  did  find  in  The  Chyrurgien's 
Mate  or  old  Galen's  Art  of  Physick,  that  once  1  found 
you  with — or  even  the  Whole  Duty  of  Man,  which  I 
swear  you  have  not  read." 

"Yes,  1  have.  But  the  story,  Dr.  Carroll!  Was't  the 
news  you  had  for  my  ears?" 

"  Even  so,  mistress.  Now  —  careful  with  the  body. 
We  mustn't  spill  this — where's  your  filter?  That's  it. 
A  slow  evaporation  will  be  best.  Can  you  fix  the  other 
end?  Good!  You  have  a  deft  hand. 

"Well,  now,  the  tale  runs  this  wise.  You  heard  me 
say  that  1  was  at  the  piers  when  the  Baltimore  came  in 
this  morning.  I'm  half -owner  in  her,  and,  besides  that, 
Croft  is  a  very  good  friend  of  mine,  and  'tis  four  months 
since  he  sailed  from  here.  He — the  captain,  Debby — 
came  off  from  the  ship  in  his  boat,  looking  a  bit  tired  and 
haggard,  and  more  glad  to  get  home  again  than  ever  1 
saw  him  before.  They'd  a  nasty  voyage,  been  short 
of  water  for  a  week,  and,  besides  that,  he  had  a  tale  to  tell 
about  one  of  his  passengers.  At  Portsmouth  only  four 
came  on  board,  one  of  them  a  young  fellow,  a  Frenchman, 
known  to  Lord  Baltimore,  who  commended  him  to  the 
care  of  Croft.  It  appears  that  the  young  man  is  of  the 
nobility  and  high  up  in  Court  society  at  his  home — Paris, 
1  suppose.  But,  for  some  reason  unknown,  he  packed 
himself  on  board  the  Baltimore  and  sailed  for  a  place 
certainly  far  enough  away  from  his  friends  and  his  people, 
whoever  they  are.  Croft  says  that  it  can't  be  an  unlawful 


A  Ship  Comes  In  115 

thing  he's  done  to  make  him  come  away,  for  the  Lord 
Proprietary  himself  came  down  to  the  ship  with  him  and 
tried  to  persuade  him  to  give  up  the  idea  of  coming.  I 
suggested  to  Croft  that,  if  it  were  not  outlawry,  love  were 
the  thing  to  send  a  man  flying  like  a  fool  from  civilization ; 
and  Croft  vows  1  hit  it.  This  noble  Marquis  de  some- 
thing-or-other,  Croft  said,  mooned  about  the  ship  like 
a  soul  in  purgatory  for  the  first  weeks  out,  and  thereupon 
he  fell  sick  in  good  earnest.  It  seems  he's  been  in  a  raving 
fever  now  for  days  past,  sometimes  delirious,  sometimes 
in  coma.  He's  talked  overmuch,  from  what  I  can  hear, 
about  Lewis,  the  French  King,  and  a  lot  of  madames, 
and  a  Henry — his  rival,  perhaps — and  I  don't  know  what 
all. — See,  there's  the  first  vapor.  Now  'twill  be  just  right. 
— Well,  Croft  said  he  must  see  this  man  safe  off  his  hands 
and  in  some  place  where  he  could  be  cared  for,  before  he'd 
make  report  of  the  voyage.  So,  Debby,  I  sent  a  black 
up  to  the  ordinary  of  Mrs.  Miriam  Vawse,  and  she  came 
down  herself  to  the  wharf,  just  as  they  got  the  man  ashore 
— de  Mailly,  his  name  is.  By  the  great  Plutarch,  Deb, 
he's  the  man  for  us !  Never  have  I  seen  a  creature  in  such 
condition!  I  think  he  must  have  been  well  enough  look- 
ing once.  But  now ! — He's  a  skeleton  from  fever.  His 
face  is  shrunken  and  as  bright  as  a  hunting-coat.  His 
hair — 'tis  long  and  black — tangled  into  a  mat;  and  his 
clothes,  of  excellent  make  they  are,  hang  about  him  like 
bags.  He  was  conscious  when  he  landed,  but  I  didn't 
hear  him  speak  a  single  time  as  we  drove  him  up  the  hill 
and  to  the  ordinary,  where  Mrs.  Miriam  is  to  care  for  him. 
"Now,  Deborah,  here's  my  part  of  the  tale  for  you. 
To-morrow,  when  you  come  in  town  for  the  sale,  after  you 
dine  with  us  at  noon,  I  shall  manage  so  that  you  go  down 
to  the  Vawse  house  and  yourself  see  this  fellow,  judge 
his  symptoms,  and  administer  this  very  stuff — that  is 
coming  out  fine  and  clear  now  —  to  him,  in  your  own 
way.  'Twill  be  the  best  practice  you  could  have;  you 
could  scarce  make  the  man  worse ;  and  'twould  be  a  grand 
thing,  eh,  Deb,  to  accomplish  such  a  cure  as  that? — My 


n6         The  House   of  de  Mailly 

faith,  you'll  be  having  me  return  to  the  profession  in  a 
year  more!  But  hang  me  if  I'd  not  be  found  a  better 
practitioner — with  your  assistance — than  Richards,  dis- 
penser of  poisons  that  he  is!" 

"And  so  are  we,  Dr.  Carroll/'  returned  Deborah,  so- 
berly, as  she  carefully  watched  the  process  of  evapora- 
tion in  the  retort.  "  Indeed,  1  think  that  1  like  better  know- 
ing the  things  that  will  kill  than  those  that  will  cure." 

"  Bloodthirsty  maiden — don't  you  know  'tis  all  the  same 
thing? — And  how  d'you  like  my  plan?" 

"I  think,  sir,  that  madam  never  would  permit  it. 
'T would  be  a  most  highly  improper  thing." 

"Nonsense — nonsense.  If  you  were  my  own  maid, 
you  should  certainly  do  it.  I'll  manage.  Trust  me — 
that  is,  if  you  care  for  it.  Are  you  indifferent?" 

Deborah  was  silent  for  a  long  moment.  Then  she 
sighed.  "I'm  not  indifferent.  And  —  and  I'd  dearly  like 
to  see  a  gentleman  from  Court — even  though  it  were  only 
from  the  French  Court." 

"  Only  the  French  Court !  Why,  child,  'tis  the  greatest 
in  the  world — for  courtiers  and  gayety.  What  more 
would  you  have?" 

Deborah  had  no  time  to  make  answer,  for  at  that  mo- 
ment one  of  the  house-slaves  came  to  the  open  door  of  the 
still-room. 

"Beg  pa 'don,  Mist'  Cawlve't  sen't'  say  the  ho'ses  a'e 
ready,  an'  does  doctah  want  dinne'  at  Mist'  King's,  o' 
is  he  goin'  eat  Miss  Deb's  dis — dis — somethin',  1  done 
fo'got  what/' 

Carroll  laughed.  "Troth,  Debby,  Mistress  Lucy  must 
have  been  less  entertaining  than  usual  this  morning. 
I  must  go,  I  suppose. — Can  you  finish  this  alone?  You 
seem  to  know  all  the  processes. " 

"  Yes,  I  can  finish  it  in  an  hour,  if  madam  lets  me  stay 
here/' 

"I'll  try  to  see  that  she  does.  Will  you  bring  the  aconi- 
tum  to-morrow,  then?" 

"Yes."    Deborah  smiled  and  courtesied. 


A  Ship  Comes   In  117 

The  doctor  bent  over  and  kissed  her  hand  with  affec- 
tionate gallantry.  "Good-morning,  Hygeia." 

"Good-bye,  sir." 

"Till  to-morrow.  At  the  French  Court,  I  believe,  they 
say  '  au  revoir,' "  he  added,  mischievously,  while  the 
girl  smiled.  Then  Carroll  strode  off,  with  David  at  his 
heels,  leaving  Deborah  alone  at  her  favorite  occupation, 
wondering  a  little,  in  an  absent-minded  way,  over  the 
unusual  event  that  her  somewhat  eccentric  mentor  pro- 
posed to  bring  into  her  life. 

Mr.  Benedict  Calvert,  with  the  Trevor  family  clustered 
about  him,  stood,  riding-whip  in  hand,  in  the  portico  of 
the  manor,  in  front  of  which,  on  the  driveway  which  curved 
out  towards  the  river,  were  the  two  horses,  Carroll's  and 
his,  held  by  one  of  the  stable-boys.  Mr.  Calvert  was 
laughing  and  talking  blandly  with  Lucy  and  Sir  Charles ; 
but  madam,  with  her  elder  daughter  ami  Vincent,  stood 
a  little  to  one  side,  and  annoyance  was  very  plainly  read- 
able in  the  face  of  the  mistress  of  the  house.  The  doc- 
tor, with  a  cheery  smile,  came  briskly  round  the  corner 
of  the  east  wing.  It  took  but  one  glance  to  tell  him  who 
had  really  called  him  from  the  still-room. 

"Most  puissant  Lord  Commissioner,  behold  me  here  at 
your  command!"  he  cried,  approaching  his  companion. 

"A — Deborah  is  not  with  you?"  observed  Madam  An- 
toinette rather  uselessly. 

"No.  Shall  I  call  her?  I  left  her  in  the  preparation 
of  a  little  matter  which  I  had  requested  of  her.  Pardon 
me.  I  did  not  know  that  I  was  taking  her  from — "  he 
made  as  if  to  go  after  her,  when  Vincent  interposed. 

"Don't  trouble,  doctor.  She  will  be  only  too  glad  to 
finish  what  you  asked.  Afterwards  there  will  be  time 
enough  for  the  spinning,  or  the  weaving,  or  whatever  is 
necessary." 

Carroll  thanked  the  young  man  with  a  little  glance, 
and  began  at  once  making  his  farewells.  He  perceived 
that  the  time  for  introducing  the  project  of  Deborah's 
visit  on  the  morrow  was  eminently  unpropitious.  Mr. 


n8        The  House   of  de  Mailly 

Calvert  made  graceful  adieux  to  the  ladies,  lightly  saluted 
the  master  of  the  house  and  the  Governor's  lieutenant, 
and  leaped  upon  his  animal.  A  moment  more  and  the 
two  were  cantering  away,  side  by  side,  still  looking  back 
to  the  portico.  When  they  were  at  length  hidden  by  the 
bend  in  the  road,  Madam  Trevor  turned  to  the  two  girls. 

"Virginia  and  Lucy,  go  you  both  and  overlook  your 
wardrobes  and  the  linen  in  the  press,  and  think  out  what 
is  needed  that  we  may  buy  at  the  sale  to-morrow.  Deb- 
orah may  help  you  when  she  comes  in.  Charles,  you 
ride  to  town,  do  you  not?  And,  Vincent,  1  would  have 
a  moment  with  you  before  you  go  to  the  fields." 

The  little  party  dispersed  as  it  was  bid,  Vincent  follow- 
ing his  mother  into  the  house  and  to  the  west  passage, 
where  hung  her  garden  hat,  her  lace  mittens,  her  basket, 
and  her  pruning-knife.  Thus  accoutred,  she  led  the  way 
through  the  breakfast-room  and  out  upon  the  terrace  that 
overlooked  the  fairest  spot  in  Madam  Trevor's  world — her 
garden.  Here  she  paused,  her  eyes  wandering  for  a  mo- 
ment over  the  scene  about  them,  before  she  turned  to 
her  son. 

"  I  wanted  to  speak  to  you,  Vincent,  of  the  sailing  of  the 
Baltimore.  Within  two  or  three  weeks  she  will  be  going 
out  again,  'tis  likely." 

"True.  And  what  has  that  to  do  with  us?"  inquired 
the  young  man  in  some  perplexity. 

His  mother  sighed.  "Vincent,  1  confess  to  anxiety. 
You  are  aware,  1  think,  of  the  reason  of  Charles  Fairfield's 
colonial  appointment?  You  know  why  he  sailed  with 
you  in  the  autumn  when  you  came  home  to  us  to  take 
your  father's  place  here?  You  know  why  he  has  made 
his  home  in  our  house  instead  of  in  Annapolis  with  the 
other  aides?" 

"Yes,  1  know,"  responded  Trevor,  shortly. 

"Remember,  Vincent,  it  was  your  father's  wish,  it  is 
your  uncle's,  it  is  mine,  that — we  should  all  be  brought 
a  little  closer  to  old  England  by  Virginia's  marriage  with 
her  cousin," 


A   Ship   Comes    In  iig 

"And  the  sailing  of  the  Baltimore?" 

"1  am  going  to  send  off  my  jewels,  my  wedding  pearls, 
to  have  them  remounted  in  London  for  Virginia.  And 
when  they  come  home — that  should  be  in  August — when 
they  come  home,  you  and  Charles  must  come  to  an  under- 
standing about  your  sister.  Remember,  Vincent,  as  the 
head  of  the  family,  you  have  a  place  to  fill.  There  are 
certain  matters  about  which  you  cannot  afford  to  be  care- 
less— matters  of  more  importance  than  the  tobacco  crop, 
or  the  price  of  slaves.  1  wished  to  ask  you  this  morning 
if,  when  we  drive  in  town  for  the  dock  sale  to-morrow,  you 
will  see  Captain  Croft  about  intrusting  the  pearls  to  his 
keeping." 

"  Certainly,  madam,  if  you  wish  it.  Shall  I  take  them 
to-morrow  to  him?" 

"No.  Not  till  just  before  the  ship's  sailing.  They 
are  too  valuable  to  leave  in  a  captain's  cottage.  This 
is  what  1  had  to  say,  Vincent.  Go,  now,  to  your  fields, 
if  you  wish." 

Vincent  bent  over  and  kissed  her  hand.  Then  he  started 
towards  the  house.  After  half  a  dozen  steps  he  halted 
suddenly  and  looked  back,  as  though  he  would  have 
spoken.  His  mother,  however,  had  descended  the  terrace 
steps  and  was  already  bending  over  her  flowers.  So, 
after  a  little  pause,  he  turned  about  again  and  continued 
thoughtfully  upon  his  way. 


CHAPTER    II 
Dr.  Carroll's    Idea 

EBORAH'S  bedroom  was  extremely  small.  It 
was  merely  one  corner  of  the  west  wing,  par- 
titioned off  from  the  spinning-room  and  the 
great  hand-loom ;  and  there  was  barely  room 
in  it  for  her  bed,  dressing-table,  chest-of-draw- 
ers,  washstand,  and  two  chairs.  Besides  these  necessities, 
there  were  two  windows  and  a  strip  of  carpet,  to  be  regarded 
as  luxuries.  Deborah  herself,  however,  curtained  the  bed 
and  windows  after  her  own  fashion,  in  white  India  muslin, 
put  a  ruffled  cover  over  the  dressing-table,  displayed  what 
ornaments  she  possessed  prettily  about  the  room,  and  so 
regarded  it  with  satisfaction  ever  after.  Her  two  windows 
both  looked  out  over  the  back  of  the  plantation,  the  flower- 
garden  being  directly  below,  the  woods  to  one  side,  the  to- 
bacco barns  at  a  distance.  The  room  underneath  Debo- 
rah's, which  occupied  the  whole  of  the  west  wing  on  the 
ground  floor,  had  been  given  to  Sir  Charles;  and  in  the 
passage  that  connected  this  with  the  main  house  were  the 
stairs. 

When  Deborah  woke  from  her  dreamless  sleep  on  the 
morning  after  the  doctor's  visit,  the  first  active  thought  in 
her  brain  was  of  the  dock  sale  for  that  day.  It  was  rather 
later  than  her  usual  hour  of  waking,  and  she  hurriedly 
began  her  toilet.  Presently,  however,  as  she  was  loosen- 
ing her  hair,  her  eyes  fell  upon  the  bottle  of  aconitum  na- 
pellus  which  she  had  brought  to  her  room  after  its  prepara- 
tion on  the  day  before ;  and  at  sight  of  it  her  hands  dropped 
to  her  sides,  and  she  stood  still  for  a  moment  in  contempla- 
tion. Then  a  little  shiver  ran  over  her,  and  she  performed 


Dr.  Carroll's   Idea  121 

something  very  like  a  shrug.  "1  don't  like  sick  people/' 
she  muttered  to  herself,  turning  to  sit  down  before  her  mir- 
rored table. 

If  Deborah's  words  were  quite  honest,  then  certainly  this 
morning  she  was  looking  forward  to  the  dock  sale  with 
unusual  pleasure.  She  had  never  before  manifested  any 
strong  interest  in  these  things.  In  fact,  she  had  been 
known  to  say  that  they  were  tiresome.  Men  did  not  much 
frequent  them ;  no  young  lady  was  allowed  money  to  spend 
for  herself;  and  the  good  housewives  were  always  more 
interested  in  table-linens  and  utensils  than  ribbons  or  jew- 
elry. Nevertheless,  here,  this  morning,  was  Mistress 
Debby,  plying  her  hair  with  more  interest  than  she  had  had 
for  it  since  the  last  assembly ;  and  when  it  was  all  ringletted 
and  quite  smooth,  she  saw  fit  to  use  upon  it  a  white  ribbon 
that  had  never  before  been  worn.  Also,  when  Lucy  cried 
at  the  door  that  she  was  to  wear  her  blue  lutestring 
petticoat  and  white  muslin  overdress,  those  garments  lay 
ready  upon  a  chair,  though  once  or  twice  before,  on  like  oc- 
casions, there  had  been  some  spirited  conversation  be- 
tween Deborah  and  Madam  Trevor  before  the  young  lady 
was  willing  to  give  up  the  perverse  idea  that  her  every-day 
holland  was  quite  good  enough  for  such  an  affair.  When 
she  was  ready,  and  the  lace  mittens  taken  from  their  draw- 
er, Deborah  carefully  placed  her  phial  of  distilled  liquid 
in  the  neck  of  her  dress,  pushing  it  out  of  sight  among 
the  ruffles  of  her  kerchief. 

At  nine  o'clock  the  family  coach,  with  four  ladies  inside 
it,  left  the  house.  Sir  Charles,  in  scarlet  and  white,  and 
Vincent,  in  bottle  green,  accompanied  the  vehicle  on  horse- 
back. Vincent  was  reconciled  to  leaving  his  fields  by  the 
prospect  of  meeting  some  of  the  burgesses  in  the  city  and 
learning  the  details  of  yesterday's  election  of  commission- 
ers; while  the  lieutenant  never  needed  strong  urging  to 
give  a  day  to  the  mild  amusements  of  the  colonial  town, 
with  its  coffee-house,  its  feeble  imitators  of  English  beau- 
ship,  its  jockey  club,  and  what  few  pretty  women  were  to 
be  visited  in  the  daytime.  The  clock  on  St.  Anne's  was 


122        The  House   of  de  Mailly 

booming  the  half-hour  as  the  coach  crossed  the  bridge  over 
the  inlet  at  the  foot  of  Prince  George  Street;  and  here,  in 
the  last  house  of  the  town,  a  quaint  wooden  cottage  in  the 
midst  of  a  well-shaded  yard,  dwelt  Captain  Croft  of  the 
Baltimore.  At  its  gate  Vincent,  with  a  little  nod  to  his 
mother,  stopped. 

"I've  an  errand  here,"  he  called  to  Fairfield.  "Will  be 
at  Carroll's  by  twelve.  Do  you  dine  with  us  ?" 

The  aide  shook  his  head.  "  Thanks,  no.  I'll  go  to  the 
coffee-house  with  Curtis  and  Belmont,  if  1  do  not  dine  at 
the  Governor's.  Are  you  coming  to  the  assembly  later?" 

"Yes.  Till  this  afternoon,  then,"  and  Vincent  dis- 
mounted at  the  gate,  while  the  coach,  with  its  single  cava- 
lier, all  unconscious  of  the  significance  of  Vincent  Trevor's 
errand,  went  on  again.  At  the  new  Bladen  Street  Sir 
Charles  turned  off  towards  the  Governor's  "palace,"  while 
the  vehicle  kept  on  towards  the  water-side. 

Hanover  Street  was  thronged  with  coaches  and  convey- 
ances of  all  kinds,  bringing  in  people  from  the  country, 
while  the  ladies,  and  a  few  gentlemen  of  the  city,  picked 
their  way  on  foot  to  the  wharf.  Every  one  was  known  to 
the  Trevors,  and  madam  and  Virginia  had  their  heads  out 
of  the  windows  continually,  bowing  and  speaking  to  those 
whom  they  passed ;  while  Lucy  was  now  on  one  side,  now 
on  the  other,  peeping  out  with  a  covertly  expectant  air; 
and  Deborah  watched  her,  knowing  very  well  what  she 
sought,  and  knowing  also  that  it  would  not  be  found. 

Virginia  saw  her  sister's  restlessness  with  displeasure. 
She  said  nothing  till  they  left  the  coach,  but  when  at  last 
they  had  alighted  at  the  crowded  dock,  Miss  Trevor  took 
occasion  to  whisper  into  Lucy's  ear : 

"  Lucy,  had  John  Whitney  seen  you  looking  for  him  this 
morning,  he  would,  1  think,  scarce  have  been  overpleased 
with  the  manner  of  it." 

And  Deborah's  eyes  chancing  to  fall  on  the  younger 
girl's  face,  saw  her  cheeks  grow  scarlet  and  her  eyes  fall 
with  quick  mortification. 

The  sight  which  met  the  eyes  of  the  new-comers  at  the 


Dr.   Carroll's  Idea  123 

wharves  was  one  curious  enough  for  a  person  of  to-day. 
The  broad  wooden  pier,  at  which  were  fastened  a  dozen  or 
so  of  pinnaces  and  small  boats  belonging  to  folk  who  had 
come  from  far  up  the  river  or  down  the  bay,  had  been  con- 
verted for  the  time  into  a  mart.  All  up  and  down,  in  reg- 
ular lines,  it  was  dotted  with  little  platforms  of  wood,  which 
were  covered  with  articles  taken  from  the  ship  and  arranged 
here  for  sale,  on  the  day  and  night  before,  by  salesmen 
hired  for  the  purpose  from  the  various  town  shops. 

The  goods  were  the  selection  of  London  men  who  had 
made  life  studies  of  the  colonial  trade,  and  who  knew, 
moreover,  the  various  tastes  of  the  various  localities,  north, 
south,  tide-water,  and  inland.  Certainly  there  was  variety 
to  be  had  here.  Down  one  side  of  the  dock  were  set  forth 
on  their  platforms  every  possible  household  contrivance, 
with  a  good  deal  of  furniture,  and  enough  kitchen  utensils, 
china  and  glass,  to  have  set  up  a  dozen  ordinaries.  Along 
the  centre  of  the  pier  were  materials,  ready-fashioned  gar- 
ments, fine  damasks  that  could  not  be  made  at  home,  and 
fancy  articles  of  dress  and  the  toilet.  About  these  there 
hovered,  throughout  the  day,  a  fair  sprinkling  of  gentle- 
men, pricing  scarlet  and  gold-laced  coats,  silk  stockings, 
ruffles,  and  perfumed  pomades  with  great  interest.  The 
third  row  of  booths  held  agricultural  implements,  tools, 
coarse  materials,  such  as  felt  and  leather,  together  with  a 
few  books  and  papers. 

When  Madam  Trevor,  with  the  three  girls,  arrived  at  the 
pier,  all  aristocratic  damedom  seemed  to  be  about  the  silks 
and  damasks.  Now,  while  carrying  on  a  lively  conver- 
sation with  Mistresses  King,  Paca,  Cradock,  and  Chase, 
Madam  Trevor  busily  priced  tabby  silk  petticoats  and  India 
muslins,  of  which  she  selected  very  pretty  pieces  for  her 
daughters  and  Deborah.  Mrs.  Chase  was  casting  longing 
glances  at  a  satin  bodice  that  Mistress  Harwood  held  in 
her  hands.  But,  as  the  two  ladies  did  not  speak,  owing 
to  the  upper  story  of  the  Harwood  house,  there  seemed  to 
be  but  small  hope  of  attaining  to  possession  thereof. 

"What   monstrous    pretty  cloaks!"  cried   Mrs.  King, 


124        The  House   of  de   Mailly 

turning  over  a  pile  of  short  capes  of  crimson,  blue,  and 
white. 

'  'Tis  too  near  summer  now  to  purchase  cloth,"  rejoined 
Mrs.  Cradock,  pursing  her  lips  regretfully  as  she  held  one 
up. 

"  They  are  but  two  guineas,  madam ;  of  the  latest  cut ; 
will  continue  in  England  just  so  for  the  space  of  five  years 
— will  wear  longer  than  that,"  observed  the  salesman 
casually,  with  alluring  indifference. 

"I  declare  I'll  take  this  blue  one!  It  is  of  the  most 
excellent  texture,  and  'tis  always  cool  on  the  river  in  the 
evening." 

"Virginia,  will  you  have  a  white  one?"  asked  her 
mother. 

"  No,  thank  you,  madam.  I  have  cloaks  and  to  spare. 
With  your  permission,  1  will  go  look  at  the  fans  farther 
up.  My  last  was  broken  at  the  Masons'  rout." 

"  You  may  look  at  them,  and  1  will  join  you  presently. 
This  crimson  cape  will  suit  Deborah.  Would  you  like 
this,  Debby?"  She  turned  about  to  find  only  Lucy  at 
her  side. 

"Where  is  she?"  asked  Madam  Trevor  of  her  daughter. 

"On  the  other  side  of  the  pier,  1  think.  Shall  1  call 
her?" 

"At  once.     What  can  she  be  doing  there?" 

Lucy  turned  about  and  started  to  wend  her  way  among 
the  groups  to  the  other  side  of  the  dock,  where  Deborah 
stood  over  a  little  collection  of  chemists'  implements. 
Beside  her,  a  sacred  book  in  his  hand,  was  a  young  man, 
at  sight  of  whom  Lucy  hesitated,  her  face  crimson,  her 
heart  beating  unsteadily.  She  stopped  almost  still  for 
a  moment  to  watch  them.  Deborah  was  lovingly  han- 
dling a  siphon,  while  the  young  Puritan  minister  talked 
to  her.  Presently  he  caught  sight  of  Lucy,  who  was  con- 
strained to  move  towards  him  again  when  she  perceived 
the  quick  light  that  came  into  his  face  and  the  bow  that 
he  made.  Deborah  turned,  and  her  mouth  twitched  a 
little  as  she  perceived  her  cousin's  fluttering  nervousness. 


Dr.   Carroll's   Idea  125 

"Master  Whitney  was  speaking  of  you,  Lucy/'  she  said. 

"1  did  myself  the  honor  to  inquire  after  the  health  of 
you  and  Mistress  Virginia/'  said  the  young  divine,  em- 
barrassment and  pleasure  adding  a  load  of  stiffness  to  his 
manner. 

"Oh,  thank  you! — As  you  see — we  are  very  well. — 
Debby,"  she  added,  reluctantly,  "mother  wants  you  at 
once  to  see  if  you  would  like  a  crimson  cloak. — I  am  so 
sorry — 1  mean — " 

"  I  would  prefer  this  siphon  a  thousand  times  to  a  crim- 
son cloak,"  murmured  Deborah,  more  to  herself  than  to 
her  cousin. 

Lucy  heard  her,  however.  "I'll  ask,  if  you  like,  Debby, 
and  then,  perhaps,  we  may  return  and  purchase  it." 

"  I  was  just  about  to  leave  the  wharf,  having  found  the 
book  I  sought.  May  I  accompany  you  to  Madam  Trevor 
and  pay  my  compliments  to  her?" 

Lucy  beamed  with  delight,  while  Deborah  consented 
with  an  absent-minded  nod,  and  the  three  returned  to  the 
side  of  Madam  Trevor,  who  greeted  the  Reverend  Mr.  Whit- 
ney with  surprise  and  only  the  necessary  politeness.  In- 
deed this  young  Puritan  was  a  sore  subject  in  the  Trevor 
family,  whose  youngest  daughter  had  lost  her  faith,  and, 
presumably,  her  heart,  to  the  exponent  of  a  rigid  creed, 
inimical  to  every  form  of  that  Popery  which  was,  just  now, 
the  only  religion  in  disfavor  with  the  erstwhile  Catholic 
Province  of  Maryland. 

The  crimson  cloak  was  purchased,  the  siphon  was 
not;  Master  Whitney  took  a  reluctant  leave  of  little  Mis- 
tress Trevor ;  and  her  mother,  accompanied  by  Mrs.  Paca, 
started  to  rejoin  Virginia  over  the  fans. 

"Surely,  Antoinette,  you'll  scarce  return  home  before 
dinner  to-day.  Will  you  not  drive  up  from  here  and  take 
pot-luck — just  a  cold  joint — with  us?" 

"  Thank  you  for  us  all,  vastly,  Barbara,  but  we  are  be- 
spoken by  Dr.  Carroll.  You're  most  kind." 

"  I  am  sorry.  I  declare  1  had  thought  to  see  the  doctor 
here  to-day,  but  he's  not  been  near  the  dock." 


126        The   House  of  de  Mailly 

"Ay,  and  he  rarely  misses  a  sale.  Doubtless,  he  has 
gone  to  the  assembly." 

Indeed,  in  one  of  the  two  places  Dr.  Carroll,  accord- 
ing to  unvarying  habit,  should  have  been.  He  hap- 
pened, however,  to  be  sitting  in  his  own  study,  where, 
as  one  might  say,  he  had  waylaid  himself.  And  he  was 
by  now  sunk  in  a  reverie  so  profound  as  to  be  totally  ob- 
livious of  any  of  the  proceedings  of  the  outside  world. 
His  two  maiden  sisters  bustled  about  the  house  preparing 
for  their  guests.  His  son  Charles,  a  lad  of  seventeen,  was 
in  his  own  room  being  tutored  in  French  and  the  classics 
by  the  priest  who  lived  in  the  family.  Thus  the  doctor 
had  his  study,  which  was  his  particular  worjd,  to  himself ; 
and  the  two  people  who  formed  the  subject  of  his  medi- 
tations were  linked  together  by  his  thought  for  the  first 
time.  Fate  and  Fortune  can  work  most  curiously,  and 
Destiny  toss  far  indeed,  when  Claude  de  Mailly,  of  Ver- 
sailles, and  Deborah  Travis,  Virginia  born,  should  have 
set  out  towards  each  other  from  birth,  groping  till  they  met, 
and  for  some  little  time  after,  too.  Charles  Carroll,  being 
the  instrument,  not  the  confidant,  of  Fate,  was  now  sitting 
among  his  books,  perplexed  and  wondering  at  himself. 
That  morning,  for  the  second  time  within  twenty-four 
hours,  he  had  traversed  the  two  blocks  that  separated 
his  house  from  the  ordinary  of  Miriam  Vawse,  to  which 
Claude,  at  the  doctor's  instance,  had  been  carried  from 
the  ship  which  had  been  so  nearly  the  scene  of  his  death. 
And  very  differently  the  young  fellow  looked  to-day. 
He  had  been  bathed;  his  hair  was  combed  and  clipped; 
his  stubbly  beard  shaven  off,  his  soiled  clothes  removed, 
and  a  clean,  coarse  linen  shift  substituted  for  the  under- 
garments of  foreign  make  and  curious  fastening  which  had 
much  puzzled  the  excellent  Mistress  Vawse.  And  in 
this  new  guise  all  the  innate  refinement  and  gentleness 
of  the  de  Mailly  nature  had  once  more  come  to  the  surface, 
and  Dr.  Carroll  had  no  difficulty  in  determining  that  his 
new-found  prote'ge'  was  of  even  finer  breeding  than  he  had 
guessed  on  the  previous  day. 


Dr.   Carroll's    Idea  127 

Claude's  small  travelling  coffer  had  been  brought  up 
from  the  ship,  and  was  placed  near  his  bed,  in  the  clean, 
sunny  little  colonial  room  under  the  eaves  of  the  house. 
It  must  be  confessed  that  Mistress  Vawse  had  been  through 
the  trunk  pretty  thoroughly,  after  unlocking  it  with  the 
awkward  key  which  she  had  found  in  the  Frenchman's 
clothes.  But,  with  a  delirious  foreigner,  whose  disease 
requires  quiet  as  much  as  good  nursing,  beside  you,  and 
a  long  day  empty  of  incident  to  be  gone  through  in  silence, 
what  woman  could  have  resisted  the  temptation  to  ex- 
amine so  fascinating  a  boxful  of  clothes  as  this?  And 
in  justice  let  it  be  added,  that  Miriam  Vawse  would  quite 
as  soon  have  thought  of  assaulting  the  Governor  in  the 
street  as  of  purloining  the  very  smallest  lace  ruffle  con- 
tained in  this  treasure- box ;  for  her  forbears  and  her  honesty 
had  come  together  from  Kent  in  the  year  of  grace  1660, 
along  with  certain  choice  recipes  for  cordials  and  strong 
waters,  and  the  ancestral  talent  for  nursing  which  Dr. 
Carroll  in  the  old  days  had  been  wont  to  find  so  useful. 

Meantime  the  genial  doctor  had  completely  wasted 
his  morning  in  pondering  over  the  almost  impossible 
situation  that  he  wished  to  bring  about;  and  finally,  as 
the  Trevor  coach  drew  up  to  the  door,  he  left  his  study, 
resignedly  determined  to  give  his  hopes  to  Chance  for 
fulfilment. 

The  four  ladies  alighted  from  their  vehicle,  leaving  be- 
hind them,  to  the  care  of  the  black  footboy,  a  large  num- 
ber of  bundles  brought  from  the  sale.  Their  host  hand- 
ed Madam  Trevor  sedately  up  the  walk  and  into  the 
house,  where  now  Mistress  Lettice  Carroll,  his  sister,  and 
Frances  Appleby,  his  sister-in-law,  both  in  starched  and 
flowered  paragon,  with  powdered  locks  atop  of  demure, 
quaint  little  heads,  stood  in  the  doorway  to  welcome 
the  guests.  When  the  ladies  had  removed  their  head- 
gear and  scarfs  up-stairs  they  returned  to  the  drawing- 
room  where,  it  being  near  the  hour  for  dinner,  young 
Charles  Carroll  and  Father  St.  Quentin  awaited  them  with 
the  doctor.  Madam  Trevor,  Virginia,  and  Deborah  greeted 


128         The  House   of  de  Mailly 

the  priest  with  reverent  friendship,  for  every  Sunday  they 
attended  the  mass  which  he  performed  in  the  Carroll  chapel, 
where  the  few  families  of  the  old  faith  in  Annapolis  were 
accustomed  to  congregate ;  and,  besides  this,  he  had  been 
kind  enough  to  give  some  instruction  to  the  Trevor  girls 
and  Deborah  in  the  art  of  conversing  in  the  French  lan- 
guage. But  Lucy  hung  uneasily  back  in  the  presence  of 
Pere  Aime,  till  he  himself  went  forward  and  gave  her  a 
few  gentle  and  impersonal  words  of  greeting.  Madam 
Trevor,  beside  Mistress  Lettice,  cast  an  annoyed  glance 
at  her  daughter,  but  nothing  was  said  on  the  subject. 
When  Deborah,  however,  left  St.  Quentin's  side,  the  doc- 
tor placed  himself  in  her  way  and  managed  to  ask,  in  a 
lowered  voice,  as  she  passed  him : 

"You  brought  the  monkshood  with  you?" 

And  the  girl  nodded,  gravely,  "  Yes/'  The  next  instant 
she  was  seized  upon  by  young  Charles,  who  regarded  her 
less  as  a  piece  of  femininity  than  some  pretty  thing,  ex- 
cellent to  talk  to,  and  a  very  good  walker,  produced  by  a 
beneficent  nature  for  his  especial  benefit.  They  had  wan- 
dered over  to  the  window  together,  speaking  of  a  forth- 
coming sail  up  the  river,  when  Deborah's  attention  was 
caught  by  the  voice  of  St.  Quentin,  who  was  addressing 
the  doctor  on  an  interesting  topic. 

"If  it  would  not  displease  you,  sir,"  St.  Quentin  had  be- 
gun, "  1  should  like  to  give  Charles  an  hour's  holiday  this 
afternoon." 

"And  wherefore  this  leniency,  good  father?"  queried 
Carroll,  smiling  good-humoredly. 

"  For  a  kind  of  charity,  1  imagine.  This  morning,  as  I 
walked  the  length  of  the  street  before  breakfast,  Mrs.  Vawse 
came  suddenly  running  out  of  her  ordinary  to  ask  if  1  would 
not  go  in  with  her  at  once,  or  at  some  hour  of  the  day.  She 
has  lodged  in  her  house,  it  seems,  a  foreigner — French — 
who  arrived  yesterday  on  the  Baltimore,  half  dead  with 
fever,  and  who  was  carried  up  from  the  wharves  to  be  taken 
care  of  by  her.  It  appears  that  he  raves  continually  in 
French,  and  1  fancy  that  the  curiosity  of  good  Mrs.  Vawse 


Dr.   Carroll's   Idea  129 

is  growing  strong  within  her,  or  else  she  would  know  how 
best  to  serve  him,  for  she  would  have  me  come  and  translate 
for  her  some  of  his  wild  words,  knowing  that  I  have  what 
she  terms  an  unholy  learning  in  that  most  ungodly  tongue. 
As  'twas  then  too  near  the  breakfast  hour  to  obey  her 
wishes,  1  promised  to  come  later  in  the  day." 

"  And  so,  thy  curiosity  being  roused  by  the  dame's,  thou 
canst  not  wait  thy  visit  till  after  vespers,  eh?"  And  the 
doctor  laughed. 

"  Seeing  that  it  is  a  case  of  distress  on  the  part  of  one  of 
my  countrymen,  1  would  go  at  the  first  opportunity,  on 
whatever  pretence,"  returned  the  father,  calmly. 

"Well,  then,  you  shall  be  off  directly  we  finish  dinner," 
answered  Carroll,  devoutly  imploring  Providence  to  come 
to  his  aid.  "  And—" 

"  And  if  that  is  done,  1  would  have  Deborah  go  with  him," 
said  Providence  at  once,  speaking  through  Madam  Trevor, 
"with  a  message  to  Miriam  Vawse.  'Tis  concerning  the 
cherry  brandy,  Deborah.  The  last  of  hers  was  so  excel- 
lent that  1  would  have  her  make  for  us  a  keg  this  year. 
Tell  her  to  take  three  trees  of  our  fruit  for  it,  and  one  tree 
for  herself,  which/  together  with  two  bushels  of  potatoes  in 
the  autumn,  will  pay  for  the  making.  You  might  learn 
her  way  of  fermenting,  while  you  are  on  the  point.  Then 
you  may  come  back  alone,  if  the  father  is  not  ready." 

Come  back!  Yes,  there  must  be  a  coming  back.  Dr. 
Carroll,  however,  was  rubbing  his  satin  knee  in  an  ecstasy 
of  good-humor ;  and  Deborah  herself,  who,  after  a  respect- 
ful bow  to  Madam  Trevor,  had  shot  one  swift  glance  at 
the  doctor,  felt,  as  she  returned  to  her  conversation  with 
young  Charles,  a  curious  quiver  of  the  heart  which  she  af- 
terwards decided  to  have  been  one  of  the  most  delightful 
sensations  ever  known.  A  moment  later  Mrs.  Appleby, 
who  had  left  the  room  several  moments  before,  entered 
with  a  little  courtesy  to  announce  dinner. 

Once  seated  at  the  round,  well-loaded  table,  conversation, 
by  general  assent,  turned  again  to  the  Frenchman  who 
had  arrived  on  the  Baltimore. 


130         The  House   of  de  Mailly 

"  As  a  matter  of  fact/'  confessed  the  doctor,  willing  to  tell 
what  he  knew  of  the  matter  now,  "  it  was  1  who  sent  him  up 
to  Mistress  Vawse.  1  went  down  yesterday  directly  the  ship 
was  in,  and,  Croft  having  told  me  of  the  fellow,  1  got  to  see 
him.  Faith,  he  was  in  a  most  execrable  way!  And  be- 
sides, from  what  1  could  guess  from  his  manner,  and  what 
Croft  told  me,  he  was  a  gentleman  of  rank.  'Twould  have 
been  pitiable  enough  to  have  had  him  die  there  on  the  docks ; 
so  I  packed  him,  with  my  compliments,  his  box,  and  my 
black,  up  to  Miriam,  who  had  him  in  excellent  shape  when 
1  went  there  this  morning." 

"Charles,  really, you  are  monstrous  disagreeable,"  vent- 
ured Mrs.  Lettice,  gently.  "Why  did  you  not  bring  the 
poor  man  here?  1  vow  Miriam  Vawse  can  never  manage 
alone,  and — " 

"  Nay,  Lettice,  he  is  too  young  for  thee.  Ten  years  ago 
'twould  have  been  a  pretty  enough  romance,  but — " 

"Perhaps,"  struck  in  Madam  Trevor,  in  time  to  prevent 
tears  of  mortification  on  the  part  of  the  little  old  maid,  "  per- 
haps 1  had  better  go,  instead  of  Deborah.  1  might  see  the 
man,  and  find  out — " 

"Nay,  now,  Antoinette!"  interrupted  the  doctor,  in  a 
great  fright,  while  Deborah  herself  stirred  a  little  anxiously, 
"  you'll  spoil  all  my  purpose  if  you  do  that.  Let  Debby  go 
on  the  cherry  errand  if  she  will,  but  you  shall  not  see  this 
Munseer  till  he's  well  and  fit  to  receive  you.  Then,  if  he 
prove  what  1  think  him,  I'll  make  him  a  dinner-party 
here,  and  he  shall  sit  next  to  Virginia  and  opposite  you, 
and  you  may  study  him  at  will." 

"  La!  'Twill  be  as  bad  for  him  as  the  time  1  had  at  the 
last  assembly  ball,  when  at  supper  1  sat  by  old  Mas- 
ter Randal,  who  cannot  hear  thunder,  while  on  the  other 
side  was  Carleton  Jennings,  who  had  next  him  Lora  Col- 
vill,  that's  to  marry  him  in  the  autumn." 

"And  where  was  Sir  Charles  Fairfield?"  queried  little 
Mrs.  Appleby,  with  unfortunate  would-be  slyness. 

Madam  Trevor's  face  changed  suddenly,  and  Deborah 
colored. 


Dr.   Carroll's    Idea  131 

"Sir  Charles?  Oh— with  Debby,  1  believe/'  was  Vir- 
ginia's kindly,  indifferent  reply. 

Thereupon  St.  Quentin,  who  had  not  been  brought  up 
in  a  cloister,  looked  approval  at  Miss  Trevor,  and  adroitly 
changed  the  subject. 

The  meal  coming  to  an  end  at  length,  the  father  imme- 
diately addressed  Deborah  on  the  subject  of  their  visit: 

"Miss  Travis,  my  curiosity  still  burns.  Will  you  take 
pity  upon  it  and  accompany  me  as  soon  as  you  can  down 
to  the  ordinary?" 

"1  will  come  at  once,  if  Madam  Trevor  permits,"  was 
the  reply. 

"  Yes,  get  your  hat  and  scarf,  Deborah.  In  half  an  hour 
the  coach  will  be  here  to  drive  us  home.  If  the  doctor  will 
excuse  your  presence,  you  need  not  come  back.  We  will 
stop  for  you  on  the  way.  You  can  wait  in  the  sitting- 
room  if  Mistress  Vawse  is  much  occupied ;  for  you  would 
not,  of  course,  go  up-stairs." 

Madam  Trevor  made  the  last  remark  in  a  tone  that  re- 
quired no  answer.  Deborah  merely  courtesied  and  ran 
away  for  her  hat;  and,  while  the  five  ladies  returned  to 
the  parlor,  Dr.  Carroll  laid  his  hand  on  the  priest's  arm 
and  said  a  few  words  to  him  in  a  low  tone.  St.  Quentin 
raised  his  brows  slightly,  but  gave  no  further  sign  of 
surprise.  Then,  as  young  Charles  came  loitering  up,  his 
father  took  possession  of  him,  fearing  that  he  might  pro- 
pose to  accompany  Deborah  to  the  tavern.  Five  minutes 
later  the  priest  and  the  young  girl  were  on  their  way,  Deb- 
orah with  the  warm  phial,  filled  with  her  extract,  press- 
ing close  over  her  steady  heart. 

St.  Quentin  spoke  but  once.  "  Dr.  Carroll  tells  me  that 
at  his  request  you  are  to  see  this  Frenchman,"  he  observed, 
looking  down  at  her ;  but  he  saw  no  sign  of  interest  in  her 
face  as  she  answered,  briefly : 

"Yes." 

As  the  two  approached  the  quaint  little  building,  with 
the  small,  swinging  sign  of  "ordinary"  over  the  door,  its 
mistress,  looking  out  of  the  window  of  the  sick-room,  wit- 


132         The  House  of  de  Mailly 

nessed  the  approach  of  her  visitors.  She  ran  quickly 
down-stairs  to  meet  them,  leaving  her  patient  for  the 
moment  alone. 

Claude  was  lying  perfectly  still  on  his  clean  colonial 
bed,  conscious  of  nothing  about  him,  vaguely  feeling  the 
change  of  air,  perhaps,  and  the  improvement  of  his  sur- 
roundings over  those  of  the  dismal  ship's  cabin.  But  he 
was  burning  with  fever,  and,  though  the  tossing  of  the  vessel 
had  got  him  into  the  habit  of  being  still,  he  yet  talked  in- 
cessantly in  his  own  language,  while  his  wide-open  eyes, 
roving  aimlessly  as  they  did,  noted  everything  about  him, 
and  changed  it  into  some  familiar  object  of  his  rooms  "  at 
home."  He  saw  Mistress  Vawse  leave  the  window,  and 
cried  after  her  anxiously : 

"N'oubliez  pas,  chere  Marquise,  que  vous  m'avez 
promis  le  deuxieme  menuet!" 

Then,  through  the  stillness,  came  the  murmur  of  voices 
from  below.  For  an  instant  he  listened  intently.  "  Henri 
—  tu  es  tard.  Quelle  heure  est-il?  Hein?  Mesquin! 
Est-ce  que  votre  Victorine  est  enfin  moins  cruelle?"  Foot- 
steps sounded  on  the  stairs,  but  the  sick  man  turned  away 
his  head  impatiently.  "Ne  faites  pas  un  tel  bruit.  Ma 
foi!  J'ai  une  t6te!  Apportez-moi  de  1'eau,  Chaumelle. 
— Ventre  bleu!" 

Claude  sat  suddenly  up  in  bed  with  a  new  vision  before 
his  eyes.  Very  distinctly  he  beheld,  entering  the  room, 
far  in  advance  of  his  Marquise,  and  a  step  or  two  before 
some  abbe,  a  floating  picture  of  blue  and  white,  with  deli- 
cate ruffles,  a  matchless  throat,  grave  bluish  eyes,  and 
hair  neither  dark  nor  light  falling  in  confusion  about  two 
slender  shoulders.  More  and  more  intently  he  sat  and 
gazed,  while  his  scattered  senses  strove  at  last  to  adjust 
themselves,  and  his  breath  came  rapidly  through  his 
parted  lips.  Deborah,  St.  Quentin,  and  Miriam  Vawse 
had  stopped  still,  just  as  they  entered  the  room.  Deborah's 
eyes  fell  upon  the  rapt  look  of  de  Mailly,  and  were  held 
spellbound.  She  scarcely  saw  what  he  was  like,  what 
were  the  color  of  the  eyes  she  looked  into,  nor  was  she 


Dr.   Carroll's   Idea  133 

conscious  of  any  part  in  the  scene  till  Aime  St.  Quentin 
quietly  laid  a  hand  upon  her  arm.  She  quivered  and  turned 
her  head,  till  she  beheld  the  priest's  face.  Then,  sudden- 
ly realizing  where  she  was,  she  passed  her  hand  over 
her  forehead  and  stepped  slowly  back,  while  the  father, 
with  an  unreadable  expression,  advanced  to  the  bedside, 
and  Mistress  Vawse,  unable  to  comprehend  just  why  she 
had  stopped  so  long  at  the  door,  came  into  the  room. 

"You've  some  medicine,  Miss  Debby,  the  doctor  told 
me,"  she  said,  going  to  the  girl's  side. 

At  the  same  moment  Claude  dropped  back  upon  his 
pillows,  muttering,  with  dry  lips:  "Du  vin,  Armand — 
pour  1'amour  de  Dieu — du  vin!" 

Deborah  looked  up  quickly,  catching  and  understand- 
ing the  words.  "Have  you  something  for  him  to  drink?" 
she  asked,  before  St.  Quentin  could  speak. 

"Ay.  There's  fresh  water  and  a  tankard  here,"  re- 
sponded Mistress  Vawse,  hurrying  over  to  a  small  stand 
in  one  corner,  where  stood  a  pewter  pitcher  and  mug. 

"Then  let  me  have  the  cup  for  a  moment,"  said  the 
girl,  in  a  low  voice,  taking  from  her  breast  the  little  bottle 
of  brownish  liquid.  Into  the  water  which  Dame  Miriam 
brought,  Deborah,  with  a  steady  hand,  poured  five  drops 
of  the  aconitum  napellus.  "  Now,  make  him  take  it — all," 
she  said,  recorking  the  phial. 

St.  Quentin  took  the  cup  and  pressed  it  to  the  lips  of  de 
Mailly,  who  was  still  groaning  with  thirst.  He  drained 
the  draught  eagerly  and  lay  back  on  his  pillows  murmuring 
thanks  and  closing  his  eyes  for  the  first  time  since  early 
morning.  The  priest,  attracted  by  his  manner  and  his 
face,  lifted  a  chair  to  the  bedside  and  sat  down.  Deborah, 
after  looking  at  him  once  again,  drew  a  long  breath,  and 
moved  over  to  the  window,  when  Miriam  touched  her  arm. 

"Leave  the  medicine  here  and  come  writh  me,  Miss 
Debby,  till  1  show  you  some  of  his  things." 

"What  things?  Wait.  You  must  know  about  this, 
first.  Never  give  him  more  than  four  drops  in  half  a  cup 
of  water — and  that  not  too  often — twice  a  day,  1  think." 


134        The  House    of  de  Mailly 

"Why?    Is't  dangerous?" 

"Ten  drops  will  kill  an  animal." 

"Mercy  on  us!  I'll  be  careful,  then.  But  come,  now, 
to  the  best  room.  There  I've  laid  some  of  his  things  that 
were  all  rumpled  with  bad  packing.  My  faith!  Such 
satins  and  laces  you  never  did  see,  and  linen — as  fine  as 
your  India  muslin  —  and  shoe- buckles!"  With  which 
information  good  Miriam  led  the  way  on  tiptoe  from  the 
room,  Deborah,  half  reluctantly,  half  eagerly,  following 
her. 

Across  a  narrow  passage-way  on  the  other  side  of  the 
house  was  the  "  best  bedroom  "  of  the  little  old  inn.  Here, 
upon  the  high  bed,  carefully  covered  from  the  sun  and 
any  stray  atom  of  dust  with  a  clean  linen  sheet,  lay  half 
of  Claude's  wardrobe.  As  Mistress  Vawse  threw  the  cover 
aside  Deborah  uttered  a  little  exclamation.  Before  her 
were  the  two  court-suits  of  pink  and  white  satin,  with  their 
delicate  silver  and  silken  embroidery,  their  elaborate  waist- 
coats, point-lace  ruffles,  and  silk  stockings.  Beside  them 
lay  orderly  little  piles  of  red-heeled  slippers  with  paste 
buckles,  linen  shirts,  a  jewelled  scabbard,  two  or  three 
pins  of  diamonds,  of  which  neither  woman  guessed  the 
value,  some  rings,  a  white,  three-cornered  hat,  two  wigs, 
and  an  ivory  snuff-box,  in  whose  cover  was  the  miniature 
of  a  woman,  surrounded  with  pearls. 

"How    beautiful!"    murmured    Deborah,    laying    one 
ringer  gently  on  the  embroidered  pocket  of  the  pink  coat. 
"How  beautiful!     1  have  never  seen  aught  like  them." 
'  "Nor  1.     Not  on  the  Governor  himself." 

There  was  a  silence  as  the  two  colonial  women  stood 
over  the  courtier's  wardrobe,  in  this  little  bedroom  of  the 
far  new  world.  Then  again  Deborah  said,  more  to  her- 
self than  to  her  companion: 

"And  the  ladies— do  they,  too,  have  such  things  as 
these?" 

"Oh,  Miss  Debby!  Have  you  forgot  Madam  Trevor's 
wedding  satin,  with  the  veil  and  train?  And  the  brocade 
she  wore  to  the  Governor's  ball?" 


Dr.   Carroll's  Idea  135 

But  the  girl  shook  her  head  impatiently.  "Madam 
has  nothing  in  the  cedar  chest  so  wonderful  as  this/'  she 
answered,  lifting  up  a  ruffle  of  Venice  lace,  as  delicate 
as  frost  upon  a  window-pane.  She  looked  at  it  lovingly 
for  a  long  moment,  and  was  about  to  replace  it,  when  her 
eye  fell  on  something  which  had  lain  beneath.  It  was  a 
white  kid  glove,  its  back  embroidered  in  tarnished  gold 
and  set  with  little  blue  stones,  while  in  the  centre  of  the 
arabesques  was  a  crest,  also  in  gold,  unstudded.  The 
girl  turned  it  over,  mechanically.  Yes,  there  was  some- 
thing on  the  palm  —  the  painting  of  a  man's  face  and 
shoulders,  a  handsome  face,  if  distorted  a  little  by  the 
brush;  the  face  of  a  man  comparatively  young,  some- 
thing dull  of  expression,  with  a  pair  of  great,  sapphire 
blue  eyes,  and  curling  locks  of  bright  gold  tied  loosely 
back,  but  unpowdered. 

Deborah  raised  her  eyes  till  they  met  those  of  Mistress 
Vawse. 

"  This — does  not  belong  to  him?  Is  not,  1  mean,  a  man's 
—gauntlet?" 

"  No,  Miss  Debby.  When  1  took  off  his  old  suit  yester- 
day, 1  found  that  glove  pinned  to  his  shirt  on  the  left  side, 
over — " 

"His  heart." 

Mistress  Vawse  nodded.  The  glove  dropped  from 
Deborah's  hand,  and  Father  St.  Quentin  suddenly  ap- 
peared at  the  door. 

"The  coach  is  coming,  Deborah.  Have  you  told  Mis- 
tress Vawse  of  the  cherries  yet?" 

"Oh  no!     1  will  as  we  go  down." 

"And  how's  the  Frenchman,  sir?" 

The  father  smiled.  "Luck  is  against  my  practice  of 
French  for  the  day,  1  fear.  1  must  come  to-morrow.  It 
may  be  Mistress  Deborah's  medicine.  He  is  sleeping 
like  a  child." 


CHAPTER   III 

The  Plantation 

T  was  nearly  four  weeks  since  the  Baltimore 
had  set  sail  on  her  return  voyage  to  England. 
The  June  days  were  flying.  Peach-blos- 
soms had  long  since  fallen;  cherries  were 
daily  reddening;  and  the  turkeys  had  been 
turned  into  the  tobacco  fields  for  their  annual  feast  off  the 
insect  life  so  destroying  to  young  plants.  In  nine  days 
more  the  commissioners  from  Annapolis  were  to  make 
their  departure  for  Lancaster  in  Pennsylvania,  for  the 
purpose  of  settling  the  long-delayed  matter  of  purchasing 
charter  rights  from  the  Indians.  It  was,  moreover,  a 
Monday  afternoon,  and  very  warm,  when  Virginia  Trevor 
came  languidly  up  from  the  rose-garden  towards  the  wide 
and  shady  portico  of  the  house.  In  her  hand  she  held 
two  magnificent  red  roses,  which  she  now  and  then  raised 
to  her  face,  they  being  in  perfect  contrast  to  her  white 
gown  and  petticoat  of  palest  yellow. 

The  portico  was  furnished  in  the  fashion  of  a  room,  for 
in  summer  the  family  were  inclined  to  spend  more  time  there 
than  in  the  house.  Upon  it  now,  in  one  of  the  comfortable 
chairs  that  surrounded  a  wicker  table,  sat  the  solitary 
occupant  of  the  portico — Sir  Charles.  He  had  been  here 
for  an  hour  or  so,  ever  since  dinner  was  over,  half  awake, 
bored,  wishing  for  amusement,  but  without  energy  to  go 
in  search  of  it.  On  Virginia's  approach  he  rose,  bowed, 
and  went  to  the  edge  of  the  porch  to  hand  her  up. 

"Thank  you,"  she  said,  smiling  a  little.  "It  was  a 
condescension.  You  look  very  sleepy." 

"And  you  are,  as  ever,  pleased  to  make  sport  of  me," 


The   Plantation  137 

he  responded,  good-humoredly.  "Have  you  no  pity  for 
a  man  weary  of  himself,  his  very  sportiveness,  and  most 
mightily  tired  of  the  silence  of  the  trees,  the  shadows, 
the  sun,  and  the  river  yonder?" 

"Troth,  you  are  in  a  bad  way/'  responded  the  young 
lady,  seating  herself  at  the  table  and  taking  therefrom  a 
reticule  which  held  some  silken  knitting-wqrk. 

There  was  a  pause  before  Fairfield  observed,  idly,  "  My 
aunt's  roses  must  be  highly  successful  this  year." 

"  Yes.     These  are  very  perfect." 

"  And  are  you  going  to  be  so  selfish  as  to  keep  the  two  of 
them,  when  not  even  one  is  needed  to  complete  your  beau — " 

"No,  no.     Stop!" 

Sir  Charles  looked  at  her  in  surprise. 

"Take  both  the  flowers  if  you  like" — she  tossed  them 
over  to  him — "  but  forbear  any  remarks  on  my  appearance. 
1 — 1  am  not  in  the  mood." 

He  fastened  the  roses  upon  his  waistcoat,  helped  him- 
self to  a  pinch  of  snuff,  dusted  his  coat  with  a  large  hand- 
kerchief, and  leaned  towards  her.  "  How  have  I  offended, 

0  Virginia  the  fair?"  he  asked,  half  lazily,  half  curiously. 
The  young  lady  shrugged  her  shoulders.     "In  no  way 

at  all.     This  is  a  Monday.     Have  you  never  noticed  that 

1  am  always  vaporish  on  Mondays?" 

"No,  1  had  not  noticed.  Oh!  as  I  remember  it!  Tell 
me,  what  did  you  think  yesterday  of  M.  de  Mailly?  Is't 
the  first  time  you  have  seen  him?" 

"  Yes.  And  I  think  him  a  gentleman,  and  that  his  Eng- 
lish accent  is  good.  He  looked  rather  pale.  For  the 
rest — why  should  I  think  of  him  at  all,  since  his  eyes  are 
only  for  Deborah?" 

"Deborah!"  echoed  the  man,  too  quickly.  He  recov- 
ered himself,  however.  "Ah,  well — he  has  seen  her  be- 
fore. You  and  Lucy  were  strange  to  him. " 

"  He  has  seen  her  before?"  repeated  Virginia,  surprised. 

"Several  times.  Didn't  you  know?  Carroll  told  me 
'twas  her  doses — medicines — that  probably  saved  his  life." 

"  Ah !     So  that  is  what  has  made  her  so  eager  over  Miriam 


138        The  House   of  de  Mailly 

Vawse."  Virginia  gazed  thoughtfully  out  among  the 
trees  towards  the  river,  of  which  a  flashing  glimpse  was 
now  and  then  to  be  caught  through  the  feathery  foliage. 

"  1  thought  you  knew,  cousin,  or  1  would  not  have  spo- 
ken. There  was  no  wrong  in  the  matter.  Only  Deborah 
is  peculiar.  She — " 

"  Oh,  have  no  fear !  I  will  not  speak  of  the  matter.  But 
— I  am  not  too  fond  of  Deborah  Travis;  therefore  I  say 
nothing  of  her  affairs.  It  might  be  better  for  her  if  I 
did." 

"I  think  not,"  he  answered,  coolly.  "Hark!  There 
is  some  one  coming  up  the  road.  Do  you  hear  the  beat  of 
the  hoofs?" 

"Yes." 

At  that  moment  Jim,  the  groom  from  the  stables,  came 
running  to  the  portico,  and  stood  there  expectantly  facing 
the  road,  down  which  the  sound  of  horses'  hoofs  was  be- 
coming plainly  audible. 

"Who  is  it,  Jim?"  asked  Sir  Charles. 

"Mas'  Thompson  shout  f'um  road,  minute  ago,  dat 
Mistah  Rockwell  ridin'  up." 

"Oh  —  Mr.  Rockwell!"  Virginia  rose  with  a  cold  ex- 
pression settling  over  her  face,  and  Sir  Charles  shrugged 
indifferently  as  the  visitor  came  in  sight  and  presently 
halted  his  mare  at  the  portico. 

He  was  a  florid,  rotund,  sandy-haired  fellow,  the  rector 
of  St.  Anne's  of  Annapolis;  conceited,  a  large  eater,  and 
a  fair  story-teller,  but  without  brain  enough  to  make  him- 
self obnoxiously  disagreeable.  He  came  up  the  two  steps, 
wiping  his  face  with  an  enormous  handkerchief.  His 
dress  had  been  somewhat  disturbed  by  the  long  gallop, 
and  his  bag- wig  was  awry.  Before  bowing  to  Virginia 
he  stopped  to  adjust  these  matters,  and  then,  having  re- 
turned the  slightly  distant  salute  of  the  lieutenant,  he 
observed,  in  a  thin,  non-clerical  voice: 

"Mistress  Virginia,  if  it  is  not  inconvenient,  I  am  bent 
upon  seeing  your  brother  and  Madam  Trevor  this  after- 
noon." 


The   Plantation  139 

"  Vincent  is  in  the  fields,  Mr.  Rockwell.  1  will  have  him 
sent  for." 

"  Pray  do  not  do  so,  my  dear  young  lady.  1  would  not 
for  the  world  put  you  to  such  trouble.  No  doubt  he  will 
be  in  later.  1  will  see  madam,  your  mother,  first.  If  you 
could  tell  me  where  1  may  find  her — " 

"Will  you  step  into  the  parlor,  please?  If  Sir  Charles 
will  excuse  me,  1  will  call  my  mother  at  once." 

The  lieutenant  bowed  politely,  and  the  two  passed  into 
the  house,  leaving  Fairfield  to  sit  down  again  with  another 
shrug  at  the  interruption  that  left  him  once  more  to  his 
boredom.  Presently,  to  his  mild  surprise,  he  perceived 
young  Charles  Carroll  hurrying  through  the  shrubbery 
in  the  distance,  across  the  road. 

"Carroll!  Oh,  Carroll!"  shouted  Fairfield;  but,  if  the 
boy  heard  him,  he  made  no  reply,  merely  quickening  his 
pace  a  little  till  he  was  out  of  sight. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  young  Charles  did  not  want  to  hear. 
It  was  for  Deborah  that  he  had  come  to  the  plantation,  and 
he  was  going  to  seek  her  in  the  spot  where  she  was  most 
likely  to  be  found.  Having  happily  escaped  the  continued 
notice  of  Sir  Charles,  he  reached  the  back  of  the  Trevor 
house,  and  there  came  upon  the  object  of  his  search,  seat- 
ed, Turk-fashion,  by  the  still-room  door,  surrounded  by  a 
group  of  black,  wide-eyed  pickaninnies,  to  whom  she  had 
been  telling  ghost-stories  in  their  own  dialect.  It  was  one 
of  her  favorite  forms  of  amusement  when  she  was  a  little 
lonely ;  and  the  small  mental  effort  required  in  concocting 
the  endless  tales  was  more  than  compensated  for  by  the 
unwavering  devotion  to  her  of  every  black  imp  on  the  place. 
It  was  no  great  acquisition,  perhaps,  to  one's  acquaint- 
ance, but  it  was  one  of  Mistress  Travis'  pleasures,  and 
one  not  yet  forbidden  by  Madam  Trevor. 

Young  Carroll  was  close  upon  her  before  he  was  per- 
ceived ;  and  when  she  beheld  his  expression,  she  burst  into 
so  sudden  a  peal  of  laughter  that  her  audience  jumped  in 
terror,  imagining  it  to  be  the  latest  demoniacal  accomplish- 
ment of  the  ghost.  At  sight  of  Master  Carroll,  however, 


140        The  House   of  de  Mailly 

they  realized  that  their  afternoon  was  over,  and  all  but  one 
ran  off  to  the  quarters.  This  small  fellow,  Sambo  by  name, 
aged  five,  elegantly  clad  in  a  brown  holland  shirt  that  was 
many  shades  lighter  than  his  skin,  clung  to  Miss  Debby's 
arm,  pleading  for  more;  for  he  was  court  favorite,  and 
might  do  as  he  chose. 

"I'm  so  glad  you've  come,  Charles,"  she  said,  holding 
out  a  hand,  which  he  clasped  and  shook  as  he  might  a 
man's. 

"1  have  the  pinnace.     Can  you  come  sailing  now?" 

"Oh  yes!  I've  finished  my  spinning"  —  she  made  a 
little  grimace — "and  the  knitting,  and  have  crushed  two 
bushels  of  rose-leaves  for  distilling,  and  have  told  three 
ghost-stories — and  now  1  may  sail,  1  think." 

"Must  1  ask  madam?"  he  queried,  dubiously. 

She  laughed.  "No.  There  now,  Sambo,  run  away. 
No,  1  can  go  without  asking  her." 

Very  gently  Deborah  put  away  the  child  who  still  clung 
to  her  skirts,  and  started  off,  beside  her  companion,  towards 
the  river.  Virginia  and  Sir  Charles,  from  the  portico,  saw 
them  pass  the  shrubbery.  Fairfield  repressed  an  excla- 
mation. He  would  have  given  much  to  have  been  in  the 
boy's  place ;  and  Virginia,  catching  a  glimpse  of  his  face, 
knew  it,  but  was  silent. 

"I've  got  that  Frencher — de  Mailly — in  the  boat,"  ob- 
served Charles,  as  if  offering  a  bit  of  off-hand  information. 
"I  like  him,  and  he  asked  to  come.  What's  the  matter?" 

Deborah  had  stopped  short  in  her  walk.  "He  there!" 
she  cried,  looking  anxiously  at  her  rumpled  dress,  knowing 
that  her  hair  was  all  awry,  and  beginning  to  pull  down  the 
sleeves  that  were  rolled  to  her  shoulders.  "  Oh,  you  might 
have  told  me!  How  could  you  have  let  me  come  looking 
so?" 

"You  didn't  mind  me,  though,"  returned  Charles,  not 
over-pleasantly.  "  Come,  let  the  sleeves  stay  up,  and  don't 
bother  with  your  hair.  You're  a  thousand  times  prettier 
so,  if  that's  what  you  want." 

Deborah  looked  up  at  the  boy  with  a  little,  mischievous 


"SURROUNDED  BY  A  GROUP  OF  PICKANINNIES" 


The   Plantation  141 

smile.  "1  know  that  I'm  better  so.  That's  why  I  let  it 
stay — for  you,"  she  said;  and  Charles,  near  enough  to 
manhood  to  make  the  inference,  had  a  momentary  impulse 
to  fall  then  and  there  at  her  feet.  He  did  not  guess,  how- 
ever, why  the  added  color  had  come  into  Deborah's  cheeks, 
or  that  there  was  a  quick  tremor  at  her  heart  as  they  ap- 
proached the  boat. 

The  wharf  belonging  to  the  Trevor  place  was  hidden 
from  the  house  by  the  foliage  of  the  peach-orchard  on  the 
river-bank.  Claude  de  Mailly,  waiting  in  the  little  pinnace, 
beheld  the  two  figures  approaching  him  among  the  trees, 
and  made  his  way  along  the  bowsprit  that  he  might  help 
the  young  girl  into  the  boat.  He  bowed  gravely  as  she 
came  along  the  pier,  regarding  her  dishevelment  of  attire 
in  surprise  as  well  as  admiration.  It  was  but  yesterday 
noon  that  he  had  seen  her  in  very  different  state,  and 
had  thought  her  charming  then.  But  now — !  She 
accepted  his  proffered  hand,  and  stepped  carefully  past 
the  boom  and  down  into  the  pinnace,  though  Charles 
had  never  seen  her  do  such  a  thing  before.  Usually  she 
leaped  past  him  and  was  at  the  tiller  before  he  could  cast 
the  painter  off. 

"Better  let  me  take  the  steering  to-day,  Deborah," 
observed  Charles,  as  they  swung  away  from  the  dock. 

"Oh — does  mademoiselle  herself  steer  at  times?"  asked 
Claude,  with  the  quaintly  twisted  s's  and  r's  that  Deborah 
loved  to  hear. 

"Sometimes,"  she  replied. 

"River  or  bay,  Deb?"  inquired  Carroll,  bluffly. 

"The  river;  and  let  us  beat  up  along  the  other  shore. 
Tis  prettier." 

"All  right.     Mind  the  sail  now." 

Deborah  obediently  ducked  her  head,  but  Claude,  not 
understanding  the  observation,  and  being  turned  from 
the  canvas,  sat  still  as  the  heavy  boom  swung  over. 
Charles  shouted,  and  Deborah  seized  his  arm,  pulling  him 
down  just  in  time.  When  they  were  under  way  again, 
de  Mailly  sat  straight  and  looked  curiously  at  the  sail. 


142         The  House  of  de  Mailly 

"Ma  foi  comme  j'etais  bMe!"  he  observed,  smiling  at 
the  girl,  who  returned  his  glance.  The  incident  had 
broken  the  little  stiffness  of  her  manner,  a  fact  which  the 
Frenchman  perceived  with  relief.  "You  saved  my  un- 
fortunate head  another  blow,  Mistress  Travis.  I  thank 
you  for  it." 

"1  am  glad  that  I  saw  you,"  she  answered.  "Charles 
and  1  have  both  been  knocked  over  with  it.  One  does  not 
always  see." 

"  Faith,  1  should  think  not !  I  had  Deborah  senseless 
for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  here  once — " 

"Nonsense,  Charles.     It  was  not  five  minutes." 

"Humph!  It  seemed  half  a  day  to  me.  There,  are  we 
near  enough  the  bank  now?" 

"Yes.     Let  her  out,  and  run  free  with  the  wind." 

With  this  command,  and  a  sigh  of  content,  Deborah  sank 
down  at  Carroll's  feet,  laid  her  head  upon  the  seat,  and 
said  no  more.  Charles  could  feel  a  bit  of  her  calico  ruffle 
over  his  foot,  and  her  shoulder  close  to  his  arm,  and  was 
perfectly  happy  in  watching  the  sail  and  feeling  the  tiller 
quiver  in  his  grasp.  The  stranger  reclined  on  a  cushion 
in  the  bottom  of  the  boat,  facing  the  stern,  his  eyes  resting 
half  the  time  upon  Deborah,  and  half  the  time  upon  the 
silver  wake  of  the  little  boat. 

A  more  perfect  afternoon  the  gods  never  contrived. 
The  sun  was  by  this  time  well  on  its  descent,  the  west 
was  a  glare  of  glory,  and  the  whole  river  caught  its  re- 
flection and  poured  an  endless  golden  ripple  along  the 
shores,  upon  whose  deep  velvet  turf  the  yellow  shadows 
were  lengthening.  From  the  bay,  eastward,  came  a  stiff 
salt  breeze  that  stirred  the  lazy  June  air  till  it  had  revealed 
every  flower-breath  in  the  land,  and  was  as  rich  as  only 
June  air  can  be.  Farther  up,  the  river  narrowed  and 
twined  between  its  banks  till  Charles  was  obliged  to  tack 
in  order  to  catch  the  wind.  For  the  most  part  the  shores 
were  wooded  -and  still ;  but  every  now  and  then  came  an 
opening  through  which  one  caught  the  glimpse  of  a  red 
brick  house  with  white  windows  and  pillared  portico  gleam- 


The  Plantation  143 

ing  through  a  mist  of  birch  or  willow  branches.  Occasion- 
ally a  gull,  just  in  from  the  ocean,  would  dart,  arrow- 
like,  into  the  water,  churning  it  white  with  his  dive,  to 
reappear  presently,  holding  a  captive  fish,  scales  flashing 
in  the  light,  fast  in  his  beak. 

Claude  de  Mailly  noted  it  all — all  this  natural  beauty 
and  perfumed  silence  that  his  life  had  lacked.  It  was 
entering  into  his  nature  at  every  pore  of  the  flesh,  and 
was  to  him  as  milk  to  a  man  dying  of  hunger  and  thirst. 
Only  one  unsatisfied  desire  was  in  his  heart.  And  yet, 
was  it  easy  to  mourn,  even  for  that,  when,  just  before  him, 
graceful,  unconscious,  careless,  pure  of  brow,  clear  of  eye, 
and  with  that  mad  hair  clustering  all  about  her  neck,  lay 
another  woman,  whose  glance,  every  now  and  then  en- 
countering his  own,  would  droop  so  swiftly  that  he  could 
see  the  whiteness  of  her  eyelids  and  the  long,  curling  lashes 
that  touched  her  delicately  flushed  cheeks?  A  new  feel- 
ing was  welling  up  in  the  courtier's  heart — something  that 
had  never  come  before.  He  let  it  stay,  nor  tried  to  under- 
stand the  reason  for  its  being.  But  he  knew  that  he  was 
moved  by  the  sight  of  Deborah,  and  instinctively  he  divined 
that  his  emotion  was  being  echoed  in  her. 

Deborah  was  cold,  with  a  cold  which  the  summer  sun 
had  no  power  to  warm.  But  she  had  not  found  that  chill 
in  the  salt,  eastern  wind.  She  knew  and  understood  but 
half  that  was  taking  place  this  afternoon.  She  had  waited 
for  its  like,  without  knowing  what  it  might  be,  for  a  long 
time.  Sir  Charles  had  brought  her  something  that  ema- 
nated merely  from  himself ;  but  here,  at  once,  in  the  first 
glance  ever  given  her  by  this  other,  while  he  had  raved 
in  fever,  was  all  that  she  had  dreamed  of,  and  infinitely 
more.  Had  it  been  some  weight  that  was  crushing  out 
her  heart,  she  could  only  have  opened  wide  her  arms  and 
fiercely  welcomed  it.  It  was  not  all  de  Mailly  either,  she 
thought,  vaguely,  as  she  felt  Charles  move  the  tiller.  It 
was  the  whole  day,  the  place,  the  sunlight,  the  river,  even 
the  imperturbable  Carroll,  who  was  silent  for  the  sake  of 
the  air,  and  the  water  beneath  the  keel  of  his  boat.  The 


144        The   House   of  de  Mailly 

Severn  was  still  swollen  from  heavy  spring  rains,  and  the 
shallows  of  later  summer  were  covered  now.  Young 
Carroll  presently  ran  the  pinnace  so  close  to  the  high  north 
bank  that  a  willow,  growing  in  the  water,  sent  out  one  pale, 
feathery  arm  that  brushed  Claude's  head  in  passing. 
Deborah  watched  a  long  leaf  draw  over  his  neck,  just 
below  the  ear  Taking  the  bough  as  it  reached  her,  she 
pressed  it  half  unconsciously  to  her  forehead,  looking 
up  to  find  de  Mailly  smiling  into  her  eyes.  But  when  they 
emerged  from  the  shadows  he  was  looking  beyond  her, 
down  the  river,  though  the  smile  lingered  still  about  his 
lips.  Charles  Carroll  did  not  notice  the  incident.  He  was 
thinking  of  his  pretty  feat  in  steersmanship. 

"Well,  Deb,"  he  said  at  last,  "if  I'm  to  get  home  for 
supper,  well  have  to  come  about." 

Deborah  sighed,  and  acquiesced. 

"Mind  your  head,  then,  sir,"  cried  the  boy,  laughing. 

And  as  de  Mailly  bent  carefully  over,  he  answered  blithe- 
ly :  "  Faith,  sir,  had  you  kept  me  out  half  an  hour  longer, 
I  should  so  have  lost  my  head  that  the  boom  could  not  have 
menaced  it." 

"Ay,  the  river's  pretty." 

"The  most  beautiful  spot  in  the  world — and  seen  with 
the  most  charming  companions,"  returned  the  Count, 
•bowing  towards  Deborah,  but  moving  up  to  the  high  side 
as  they  came  into  the  wind. 

Deborah  knew  instantly  that  their  afternoon  was  over, 
and  she  was  chagrined  that  she  had  allowed  him  to  be 
weary  of  her.  Pushing  Charles  from  the  tiller,  she  sud- 
denly took  his  place. 

"There,  now  you  shall  rest,  or  unfasten  the  sheet  and 
manage  that  while  I  wake  myself  up!"  she  said.  And 
young  Charles  obediently  moved  up  beside  Claude  and 
took  unto  himself  the  management  of  the  sail,  while  Deb- 
orah, sitting  straight  to  the  freshening  wind,  shook  her- 
self out  mentally,  and  fastened  her  thoughts  upon  the  tiller. 
Now,  indeed,  as  she  brought  the  boat  so  close  into  the  wind 
that  the  water  swirled  gently  over  the  low  side,  de  Mailly 


The    Plantation  145 

turned  towards  her  again.  He  was  willing  to  be  upset  if 
she  liked;  but  he  did  not  care  to  have  an  accident  occur 
because  he  had  made  her  absent-minded.  Deborah,  how- 
ever, was  not  thinking  of  him  at  all.  Her  skilful  hand 
was  making  the  little  vessel  fly,  and  there  would  be  no 
false  moves  on  her  part.  When  they  came  about  upon 
the  second  tack  the  sail  flapped  for  but  one-quarter  of  a 
second.  As  it  filled  with  a  puff,  the  little  yacht  fairly 
leaped  ahead. 

"Jack  me,  Deb,  if  that  wasn't  the  prettiest  turn  I  ever 
saw!"  cried  young  Charles,  as  he  manipulated  the  sheet. 

"  'Twas  half  you,  Charlie.  1  must  have  let  her  go  had 
you  not  brought  her  up  just  at  the  right  instant." 

"  And  did  Mistress  Deborah  learn  the  management  of  a 
boat  under  you,  sir?"  asked  Claude. 

"  Mine  and  my  father's." 

Claude  settled  back  and  tried  to  bring  his  mind  to  other 
subjects;  but  for  the  moment  Deborah  had  completely 
fascinated  him.  He  could  do  nothing  better  than  com- 
pare her  to  all  those  other  women  to  whom  she  was  indeed 
incomparable,  to  try  to  fathom  the  many  expressions  he 
had  seen  in  her  eyes,  and  seek  to  determine  which  was  the 
normal  one.  And  so  they  left  behind  the  upper  windings 
of  the  river  and  neared  at  last  the  wharf  of  the  Trevor  place. 
The  sun  hung  low  over  the  tree-tops  as  Deborah  stepped 
from  the  boat  and  held  out  her  hand  to  Charles. 

"  Indeed,  I  am  beholden  to  you.  We  have  never  had  so 
beautiful  a  sail." 

"1  trust,  Mistress  Travis,  that  it  will  not  be  the  last  in 
which  1  shall  be  permitted  to  join  you?"  put  in  Claude, 
hastily,  as  she  courtesied  to  him,  and  would  have  been  off. 

"1  trust  not;  but  the  pinnace  is  not  mine.  It  is  with 
Charles  and  Dr.  Carroll  that  you  must  plead." 

So,  with  that  small  politeness,  Deborah  turned  towards 
the  shore,  wondering  a  little  why  she  should  have  finished 
so  perfect  an  afternoon  in  annoyance  with  herself  and  those 
who  had  been  her  companions.  She  passed  slowly  up 
through  the  orchard  and  across  the  road  at  the  top  of  the 
10 


146        The  House   of  de  Mailly 

bank.  The  plantation  grounds  seemed  utterly  deserted. 
The  family  must  be  at  supper.  Through  the  trees  she 
caught  a  glimpse  of  ths  empty  portico.  Hurrying  a  little, 
she  went  close  to  the  doorway  of  a  small,  vine-covered  ar- 
bor which  was  but  rarely  used.  Nevertheless,  to  night,  as 
she  passed  it,  there  came  the  sound  of  muffled  sobs  from 
within.  Deborah  halted,  hesitated  for  an  instant,  and 
then  entered  the  little  place.  Inside  it  was  dusky,  but  she 
perceived  at  once  the  glimmer  of  something  white  in  a 
corner. 

"  Who  is  it?"  asked  the  girl,  sharply. 

The  figure  stirred,  and  perhaps  made  some  attempt  to 
reply ;  but  the  only  result  was  another  hoarse  sob. 

"Lucy!  Lucy!  what  is  it?"  cried  her  cousin, running  to 
her  quickly.  "Nay,  now,  pray  don't  cry  so!  Is't  only 
Mr.  Calvert's  going  with  the  commissioners,  so  that  you 
mayn't  have  him  to  take  you  to  Master  Whitney's  church? 
Listen !  Virginia  told  me  she'd  go  herself  with  you 
there." 

"  Oh,  Debby  dear,  no,  it's  not  that  at  all  now,"  came  more 
quietly. 

"What,  then?  Try  and  tell  me  about  it,  Lucy.  See, 
you  are  all  crumpled  up.  Come  out  of  this  horrid  place, 
and  tell  me  about  it.  Come,  now — come." 

It  was  seldom  that  Lucy  Trevor  would  have  refused  such 
persuasion,  for  she  was  a  gentle  little  thing,  and  loved  to 
be  led.  Now,  however,  she  resisted  all  Deborah's  kindly 
efforts  to  help  her  to  rise,  and  only  crouched  closer  in  her 
corner,  shaking  with  grief.  Finally  Deborah  knelt  and 
took  the  little  dishevelled  figure  in  her  arms.  Lucy  had 
clung  to  her  for  a  second,  when  a  new  voice  interrupted 
them. 

"  Lucy — are  you  here?" 

Virginia  stood  in  the  doorway.  Lucy  made  no  answer, 
but  Deborah  said:  "Lucy's  here,  Virginia.  What  has 
happened?" 

The  elder  daughter  of  the  Trevors  came  forward  and 
stood  looking  down  at  the  two  figures  on  the  ground.  "  The 


The    Plantation  147 

Reverend  George  Rockwell  has  asked  for  Lucy's  hand. 
She  should  be  most  proud.  Come,  Lucy,  supper  is  stand- 
ing, and  the  wedding's  not  till  to-morrow.  Why  do  you 
bear  yourself  like  a  child?  Good  God,  Lucy,  do  you  fancy 
a  woman  ever  gets  the  man  she  loves?" 


CHAPTER   IV 

Annapolis 

HE  commissioners  left  Annapolis  for  Lan- 
caster on  the  1 8th  day  of  June,  which  was 
three  days  earlier  than  had  been  originally 
planned.  After  their  departure  Governor 
Bladen  sighed  with  relief,  packed  up  his  black 
satins  and  official  orders,  and  hied  him  to  his  country-place 
to  recuperate  for  the  fall  sessions.  By  the  1st  of  July 
Annapolis  was  deserted.  All  of  the  old  families  had  gone 
to  their  summer  houses  up  the  river  or  down  the  bay,  and 
it  was  remarked  that  Dr.  Carroll,  who  chose  to  stay  in  town, 
and  Rockwell,  whom  he  sincerely  hated,  must  bear  each 
other  company  through  the  summer.  But  Dr.  Charles 
was  not  yet  reduced  to  the  companionship  of  a  Church-of- 
England  clergyman.  He  had  taken  an  immense  fancy 
to  Claude  de  Mailly,  of  whom  he  saw  as  much  as  Claude 
would  let  him.  Indeed,  he  had  given  the  Frenchman  more 
than  one  invitation  to  leave  the  tavern  of  Miriam  Vawse 
to  make  a  permanent  abode  in  his  own  house,  and  could 
not  quite  understand  why  he  had  been  refused.  But 
Claude  was  well  satisfied  where  he  was;  and  had  there 
the  indispensable  feeling  of  independence.  Few  guests 
ever  came  to  the  little  tavern  after  the  close  of  the  spring 
assembly;  and,  when  an  occasional  traveller  did  stop 
overnight,  monsieur  ate  in  his  room,  went  to  the  coffee- 
house, or  remained  to  make  acquaintance  of  the  stranger, 
as  he  chose. 

On  sailing  for  the  English  colonies  it  had  been  Claude's 
idea  to  travel  through  them,  when  he  arrived,  as  rap- 
idly as  possible,  courting  what  adventure  and  danger  he 


Annapolis  149 

could,  and  to  keep  his  thoughts  enough  occupied  to  crush, 
as  best  he  might,  his  hopeless  homesickness.  But,  after 
living  in  Annapolis  for  a  week,  he  found  that  it  might  be 
a  very  endurable  thing  to  exist  in  Annapolis  for  a  year. 
The  air  was  different,  in  this  new  land.  New  thoughts 
and  new  occupations  had  come,  after  his  illness,  and  he 
ended  at  last  by  making  a  very  pleasant  salute  to  the  Fate 
which  had  cast  his  lines  in  these  places,  determining  to 
take  the  goods  which  the  gods  and  Miriam  Vawse  pro- 
vided (at  moderate  cost),  and  remain  in  the  little  city  till 
discontent  again  knocked  upon  his  door.  Certainly,  he 
was  not  lonely.  Through  Dr.  Carroll  and  Vincent  Trevor 
he  had  made  acquaintance  with  every  gentleman,  young 
or  old,  in  the  town.  They  received  him  extremely  well, 
though,  it  must  be  confessed,  some  of  them  balked  at  his 
title.  "Bah!  Every  Frencher's  a  count!"  he  heard  Mr. 
Chase  cry  out  one  morning  at  the  market,  and  thereafter 
he  requested  to  be  presented  simply  as  M.  de  Mailly  to 
what  men  he  chanced  to  meet.  Through  the  influence  of 
Sir  Charles  he  had  been  given  the  freedom  of  the  coffee- 
house, which  was  really  the  gentlemen's  club ;  and  he  was 
asked  to  the  last  assembly  of  the  season,  which  had  taken 
place  just  before  the  departure  of  the  commissioners,  and 
which  he  did  not  attend. 

Upon  an  afternoon  of  the  first  week  of  July,  Charles  Fair- 
field,  wofully  bored  with  the  weather  and  the  lack  of  some- 
thing to  do,  rode  into  town  at  an  early  hour  with  intent  to 
amuse  himself  at  any  cost,  and  a  pruriency  towards  a  stiff 
sangaree  as  the  beginning  of  matters.  The  second  want 
drove  him  down  Church  Street  to  the  coffee-house.  On 
arriving  at  the  jockey-club-room  he  found  its  only  occu- 
pant to  be  George  Rockwell.  The  Queen's  clergyman 
greeted  him  with  great  urbanity.  How  well  would  Rock- 
well have  loved  his  brethren  had  all  of  them  been  knights, 
and  the  eldest  sons  of  wealthy  families!  The  sangaree 
was  quickly  forthcoming.  He  drank  with  Sir  Charles, 
and  Sir  Charles  drank  with  him,  and  they  drank  together, 
till  the  weather  was  of  less  importance  and  spirit  acted 


150        The  House   of  de  Mailly 

upon  spirit  with  delightful  effect.  Then  it  was  that  the 
divine  opened  a  more  intimate  conversation. 

"  Charles — my  dear  Sir  Charles — were  you  aware — ah — 
of  the  fact  that  it  is  my  hope  and  my  intention — my  inten- 
tion, sir — to  have  the  honor,  at  some  day  not  far  distant,  of 
becoming,  when  two  events  shall  have  taken  place,  your — 
ah — brother-in-law,  as  it  were?" 

"What  the— oh  yes!  Ha!  ha!  ha!  Oh  yes!  You're 
after  Lucy.  To  be  sure,  1  recollect.  Lucy !  Well,  George, 
1  wish  you  well — you  know  that.  But  she  won't  have 

you." 

"Won't  have  me? — Um.  Madam  Trevor  has  all  but 
promised  her." 

"  The  more  fool  Madam  Trevor. — Oh,  I  beg  pardon.  No 
offence,  sir.  But,  as  I  hear,  the  affections  of  the  lady 
in  question  are  already  engaged." 

"Engaged?"  The  rector  looked  startled  for  an  instant. 
Then  he  recovered  himself.  "You  have  reference,  1  pre- 
sume, to  that  Puritan  psalm-singer,  John  Whitney.  Oh, 
I'll  engage  to  cure  the  pretty  child  of  him!  She  is  coy 
with  me  now;  excuses  herself  when  1  call,  has  vapors 
when  her  mother  insists;  refuses  to  permit  me  to  salute 
her  hand.  But  1  have  no  fear,  Sir  Charles.  Consider 
my  position.  1  shall  get  her,  have  no  fear." 

"Still,  1  have  observed  that  she  attends  your  rival's 
church,"  remarked  Sir  Charles,  maliciously. 

The  rector  emptied  a  glass.  "If  you'd  but  help  me 
there,"  he  said. 

"1  help  you!     Damme,  what  can  I  do,  George?" 

"  Since  Benedict  Calvert  left  the  city  'tis  Mistress  Vir- 
ginia, your  future  wife,  who  takes  her  sister  to  the  Puritan 
meetings.  •  Now,  Fairfield,  if  you — if  you  would  be  so 
monstrous  obliging  as  to  speak  a  word  to  your  young 
lady  in — ah — my  favor,  I'd  be  forever  beholden  to  you." 

Sir  Charles  laughed  unpleasantly.  "Lord,  Master 
Rockwell,  d'  ye  think  I'm  married  yet?  What  possible 
right  have  I  to  address  my  cousin  on  any  subject  but — • 
the  one  1  most  avoid  with  her?" 


Annapolis  151 

"The  one  you  most  avoid?     And  what,  pray,  is  that?" 

"The  tender  matter  of  love,  George.  Love  and  Vir- 
ginia are — well — strangers  in  my  heart." 

"Good  Heavens!     Are  you  not,  then,  to  wed  the  lady?" 

"Damme,  my  good  fellow,  I  don't  know!  I  would  to 
Heaven  1  did  know — the  state  of  another  person's  affec- 
tions." 

"Another!  Oho!  Aha!  Another — truly  this  is  gal- 
lantry! In  my  ear,  1  beg,  whisper  the  name." 

"The  name?  There's  only  one  woman's  name  in  the 
world/'  cried  Sir  Charles,  dramatically,  a  little  overbal- 
anced with  the  sangaree.  "Deborah!  Deborah!  Deb- 
orah! 'Tis  she,  the  fairest  petticoat  in  the  colony.  D'ye 
hear?" 

"I've  heard  that  she  was  dangerous,"  responded  Rock- 
well, chuckling  with  interest.  "But  is  it  true,  is  it  pos- 
sible, Charlie,  that  you  are  bewitched  enough  by  this 
young  —  hum — Pomona — by  this  young  Pomona,  to  be 
indifferent  to  the  more  glittering  charms  of  Miss  Trevor?" 

Sir  Charles  sat  him  down  in  a  chair  and  sighed.  It 
was  a  true  love-sigh,  such  as  there  could  be  no  mistaking 
in  those  days.  "I  love  her  to  distraction,"  was  his  in- 
adequate observation. 

"Now  I  wonder,"  reflected  the  rector,  aloud,  "1  wonder 
if,  in  such  case,  distraction  and  marriage  are  terms  synony- 
mous?" He  lifted  his  head,  scratched  his  large  neck 
delicately  with  his  finger-nail,  and  regarded  the  young 
man  from  that  height  with  humorous  serenity. 

"Devil  take  me — how  can  I,  George?  They  expect 
me  to  take  the  other — Virginia.  And  there's  the  dower 
— and  my  aunt's  favor — and  my  own  dependence — and, 
egad,  I  don't  know!" 

"Then  you  won't  marry  her,  eh?" 

Fairfield  grew  a  little  red.  "I  must.  She's  a  kind  of 
cousin,  too,  you  know." 

"Oh,  tut!  A  difficult'  matter.  Hum !— Ha !— When— 
a — you  are  prepared  to  assist  me  in  getting  Mistress  Lucy, 
my  services,  or,  rather,  one  of  them,  is  at  yours." 


152         The  House   of  de  Mailly 

"The  marriage?     Oh — St.  Quentin  'ud  do  that.     He — " 

"Not  St.  Quentin 's  service,  or — one  that  he  would  not 
perform." 

"Eh?    What  are  you  getting  to,  Rockwell?" 

The  divine  advanced  with  large  solemnity  to  where  the 
young  man  sat,  bent  over  him,  and  said,  in  a  broad  whisper : 
"Now  look  you,  Fairfield,  there's  a  certain  ceremony  of 
which  the  law  takes  no  count,  certain  words  being  left 
out. — A  lady  would  accept  it — "  He  stepped  back  a 
pace.  "When  you  desire  such  a  service,  terms  might 
be  got  at  between  us.  Once  in  England  with  your  bride, 
the  marriage  growing  cold — "  he  waved  his  hand,  shook 
his  head,  and  so  finished  the  proposition. 

Sir  Charles  gave  him  a  long  look.  The  color  had  left 
his  face.  He  rose  slowly,  turned  his  back  for  a  moment, 
and  took  a  pinch  of  snuff.  As  he  faced  the  other  again 
he  remarked,  without  much  expression:  "What  a  cool- 
headed  beast  you  are,  Rockwell." 

"Sir!" 

"Yes.  But  don't  fight  me  to-day.  That  service — " 
he  stopped,  unwilling  to  go  on. 

"You  may  want  it  yet,"  finished  the  rector,  insinuat- 
ingly. , 

But  Fairfield  did  not  commit  himself.  Before  he  had 
a  chance  to  reply  a  servant  of  the  house  opened  the  door. 

"Beg  pardon,  sirs,  but  young  Mr.  Carroll  and  Mr. — 
the  Frencher,  are  below,  and,  not  being  regulars — " 

"  Yes,  yes,  show  them  up  at  once,"  cried  the  lieutenant, 
with  relief  in  his  tone. 

The  servant  disappeared,  and  George  Rockwell  turned 
upon  his  heel.  He  was  not  a  little  irritated  at  the  result 
of  the  foregoing  conversation,  and  he  remained  silent  till 
quick  steps  sounded  on  the  stairs  outside,  the  door  reopened 
vigorously,  and  young  Charles,  with  de  Mailly  at  his 
shoulder,  gayly  entered  the  room,  bringing  with  them  a 
new  atmosphere. 

"Good -day,  Fairfield!  Good -day,  Mr.  Rockwell!  — 
Faith,  you  both  look  wofully!  Is  the  sangaree  ill  made?" 


Annapolis  153 

The  boy  was  in  a  gale  of  spirits,  and  ran  about  the  room 
tasting  of  the  liquor,  looking  down  out  of  the  window, 
and  laughing  at  the  three  others.  Claude  saluted  the 
gentlemen  more  quietly,  observing  to  Sir  Charles : 

"I  perceive  that  we  have  interrupted  you.  I  crave 
pardon.  1  sent  the  man  to  see  if  you  were  disengaged/' 

"  You  are  mistaken,  monsieur.  1  assure  you,  in  my 
turn,  that  your  arrival  could  not  have  been  more  agreeable. 
— Confound  it,  Charles,  have  you  a  megrim  or  a  frenzy? 
Where  have  you  been,  sir?" 

"  To  a  cock-fight  in  the  Prince  George  Street  pit.  You 
should  have  been  with  us.  Captain  Jordan's  bird  against 
Jack  Marshe's.  Jack's  died.  The  secretary  will  be  in 
a  rage.  1  won  three  pounds,  though." 

"You  see,  it  was  the  first  1  had  witnessed/'  explained 
de  Mailly. 

"Devil  take  me,  why  didn't  you  hunt  me  out,  Charles? 
I've  been  eternally  bored  for  a  week. — You  lost  to  him, 
de  Mailly?" 

Claude  nodded.  "As  he  said,  a  small  bet — seventy- 
five  francs." 

Fairfield  looked  at  him  curiously.  Three  pounds  did 
not  seem  to  him  small  for  a  cockpit  wager;  but  he  would 
not  have  voiced  this  idea  to  the  foreigner  for  double  the 
amount.  He  turned  again  to  young  Charles. 

"  Odds  my  life,  Charlie,  you've  been  drinking.  What's 
it  mean?  Where's  your  tutor?" 

Carroll  laughed  joyously.  "Shooting  plover  in  the 
west  marsh  with  father.  I've  a  holiday,  and  M.  de  Mailly 
is  making  it  with  me." 

Rockwell  frowned  rather  ill-humoredly,  as  though  a 
preachment  lay  upon  his  tongue,  and  Sir  Charles  was 
about  to  speak  again,  when  from  below  came  the  tram- 
pling of  horses'  hoofs  and  a  little  chorus  of  voices,  while 
Carroll  cried  from  the  window:  "Vincent  Trevor,  Will- 
iam Paca,  and  Carleton  Jennings!  They've  stopped 
here." 

"Ah — they'll  be  up  presently.     Rockwell,  will  you  risk 


154        The  House   of  de  Mailly 

another  tankard  ?  They  11  have  apple-brandy  and  Madeira. 
Vincent  scorns  rum." 

The  rector  shrugged,  vouchsafing  no  active  consent, 
and  after  a  moment  or  two  the  three  young  gentlemen 
clattered  into  the  room.  There  was  a  chorus  of  greeting, 
and  Trevor  introduced  young  Paca  to  Claude,  who  had 
not  seen  him  before.  Jennings  flung  himself  into  a  chair, 
flicking  the  dust  from  his  coat-sleeves  with  a  riding-crop. 
Paca  sat  upon  the  long  table ;  and  Vincent,  after  drawing 
off  his  gloves  and  flinging  them,  with  his  hat  and  whip, 
upon  a  chair,  went  to  the  door  and  called  lustily  for  a 
decanter  of  Madeira  with  glasses. 

"I  ordered  a  sangaree  when  we  were  down,"  observed 
Jennings  to  Paca.  "  Trevor's  thirst  is  aristocratic,  but  too 
small." 

"And  we'll  all  drink  with  you  both,"  put  in  Fairfield, 
with  sociable  impudence,  while  Rockwell  smiled  approval. 

"And  now  for  the  affair  in  hand,"  pursued  Jennings, 
when  the  party  were  seated.  "We've  a  race  in  prospect, 
Fairfield,  that  will  take  four  months'  pay  to  back." 

"  Eh !   What's  that?   I  back  the  winning  side,  of  course. " 

Trevor  laughed.  "  Nay,  then,Charlie,  will  you  desert  me ?" 

"Egad,  Vin,  you're  never  going  to  take  to  racing! 
You've  no  stables." 

"  Castor  needs  none." 

"Castor!  Oh!  By  my  life,  Vincent,  he  might  do. 
Vastly  fine  points,  gentlemen.  Rough-bred;  but  where 
you'd  find  a  better — " 

"He's  pledged  already,  then,"  observed  Jennings  to 
Paca,  smiling. 

"Why,  who  will  you  run  against,  sir?"  asked  Rockwell, 
interested,  despite  his  ill-humor ;  for,  of  all  things,  he  loved 
the  turf. 

"Paca's  filly,  Doris.  She's  young  for  my  two-year-old; 
but  Will  is  to  enter  her  for  the  fall  cup,  and  wants  to  give 
her  practice." 

"  Pretty  beast,  Doris.  1  stake  on  her,  1  think.  Are  the 
dates  fixed?" 


Annapolis  155 

"No,  deuce  take  it!  there's  the  bother.  Trevor  has  no 
jockey.  Castor  will  carry  weight,  and  there's  not  a  rider 
in  town  over  four  and  a  half  stone.  Five  would  ride  him  ; 
no  less — eh,  Vincent?"  queried  Paca,  and  Trevor  nodded. 

There  was  a  short  pause,  in  the  midst  of  which  a  servant 
with  the  wine  and  sangaree  appeared.  The  room  drank 
with  Trevor,  and  two  or  three  afterwards  turned  to  the 
pewter  mugs  which  held  the  planter's  favorite  beverage. 
Claude  had  been  listening  intently  to  the  talk  concerning 
the  race,  and,  his  ear  being  well  accustomed  to  the  colonial 
accent,  he  had  gathered  the  gist  of  all  that  was  said. 

"My  man,  Tom  Cree,  might  know  of  some  fellow  who 
would  do  for  you,  Vincent.  1  think  you  could  trust  him  if 
you  cared  to  look  about  in  that  way,"  suggested  Paca, 
after  some  hesitation. 

Vincent  bowed.  "Certainly  I'd  trust  your  man,  Will. 
But  I've  some  objections  to  that  course.  I've  no  intention 
of  starting  stables.  1  run  Castor  merely  to  try  your  Doris 
and  test  my  own  animal.  1  don't  want  to  be  known  as 
deeply  interested  in  the  turf.  Get  a  professional  rider 
fastened  to  you  even  by  one  race,  and — poof!  You  all 
know  what  it  means." 

The  group  nodded.  Vincent  Trevor  was  a  man  highly 
respected  by  all  of  them.  He  was  quiet,  silent,  of  excel- 
lent judgment,  a  little  given  to  over-Toryism,  no  prig,  but 
holding  fast  to  strong  principles.  His  friends  knew  his 
manner  of  life,  and  never  expected  him  to  step  beyond  its 
bounds.  In  the  present  case  they  all  perceived  his  position, 
and  his  silence  was  rather  dubious,  till  Claude  de  Mailly 
most  unexpectedly  broke  it. 

"  This  race — it  would  not  be  in  public?" 

"Oh  no.     Certainly  not,"  responded  Sir  Charles. 

"It  would  be — on  a  track,  or  through  the  country,  it 
I' anglais?" 

"  Oh,  track,  of  course — not  a  steeple-chase — eh,  Trevor?" 
queried  Jennings,  and  Vincent  nodded,  looking  to  de  Mailly 
for  more. 

"  And  the  leagues — miles,  I  mean — how  many?" 


156         The  House  of  de  Mailly 

"Track's  a  mile  and  a  quarter.  Shall  it  be  twice 
round?" 

"Castor  will  hold  twice,  but  would  you  try  Doris  so?" 

"Tut,  tut,  Vincent!  Doris  isn't  china.  She'll  not 
break  so  vastly  easy.  Egad,  we'll  make  it  three  rounds, 
if  you  like!" 

Vincent  smiled.  "I  did  not  mean  to  offend  you,  Will," 
he  said. 

Paca  began  an  apology  at  once,  when  Claude  interrupted : 
"  If  you  would  permit  me,  Mr.  Trevor,  I  will  ride  your  horse 
for  you." 

The  five  men  and  Charles  Carroll  sat  perfectly  still  and 
stared.  De  Mailly,  beholding  their  amazement,  and  not 
understanding  it,  burst  into  an  infectious  laugh,  at  which 
Sir  Charles  immediately  caught. 

"A  fine  joke,  damme,  an  excellent  joke!"  he  cried. 

Claude  stopped  his  laughter  at  once.  "Indeed,  gentle- 
men, it  was  not  a  jest.  1  was  quite  in  earnest,  I  beg  you 
to  believe,"  he  declared. 

"  Pray,  sir,  then  why  did  you  laugh?  I  see  nothing  to 
laugh  at  in  so  serious  a  matter,"  remarked  Rockwell,  with 
an  air  of  injured  dignity. 

"  'Twas  my  fault,  parson,"  retorted  Fairfield,  still  smil- 
ing; for  his  humor,  though  English,  was  still  not  yet  of 
the  colonial  type. 

"  Then  you  really  make  a  serious  offer  to  ride  Castor  in 
the  race?"  demanded  young  Carroll,  curiously. 

"  I  offer.     It  is  for  Mr.  Trevor  to  refuse  me,  if  he  wishes. " 

'  'Tis  not  that,  monsieur,  but  you  see — it  is  vastly  strange 
form  for  a  gentleman  to  ride  a  track  against  a  jockey.  To 
be  plain,  M.  de  Mailly,  since  you  are  a  stranger  to  our  cus- 
toms— none  of  us  would  do  such  a  thing." 

Claude  smiled  and  shrugged.  "  Thank  you,  sir,  I  was 
aware  of  the  English  custom  in  this  case.  But  I  am  here 
to  amuse  myself.  1  make  you  an  offer,  sir.  Examine  my 
weight  and  my  build,  and  try  my  riding  before  you  refuse 
it." 

He  stood  up  for  the  small  group  to  judge  his  weight,  and 


Annapolis  157 

this  they  proceeded  to  do  with  calm  assurance  and  unspar- 
ing observation. 

"Not  much  over  five  stone,  I  stake  my  oath!"  remarked 
Jennings,  measuring  the  slender  figure  with  his  eye. 

"A  shade  over.     Might  train  a  little,"  commented  Paca. 

"Not  much  strength,"  whispered  Fairfield,  dubiously, 
to  Vincent. 

"  I  shall  not  be  pulling  the  horse  in  after  the  first  half- 
minute,"  observed  Claude,  quietly. 

"Ahum — can  you  ride?"  grunted  Rockwell,  when  there 
came  a  pause. 

De  Mailly  flushed.  "  There  is  a  story  that  when  M.  de 
Voltaire  was  in  London  he  was  asked  by  a  lady  if  he  had 
ever  tried  writing  verses  when  he  was  in  love,  as  was  the 
custom  among  English  gentlemen/' 

"Well — what  then?"  retorted  the  reverend,  irritably. 

Claude  turned  and  stared  at  him  with  such  a  mixture  of 
scorn  and  laughter  in  his  eyes  that  Trevor  hastily  broke  in : 

"  Of  course  M.  de  Mailly  rides,  and,  no  doubt,  excellently. 
But  perhaps  it  might  not  be  amiss  if  he  would  come  out  to  the 
plantation  in  the  morning  to  try  my  horse.  And  if  you'll 
all  be  there  to-morrow  by — eleven  o'clock,  we'll  examine 
Castor  and  give  him  a  mount  in  my  paddock  to — " 

"  To  see  whether  my  riding  is  fit  for  such  a  speed,"  added 
the  proposed  jockey,  with  a  mixture  of  wounded  vanity  and 
sarcastic  pride.  He  was  beginning  to  regret  rather  bitterly 
his  impulsive  and  wholly  generous  offer.  In  time  he  might 
become  accustomed  to  English  manners.  Just  now  they 
hurt  him  more  than  he  would  have  confessed.  His  whole 
early  life  had  been  one  which  had  fostered  his  natural  buoy- 
ant impulsiveness  of  spirit,  and  had  made  him  young  be- 
yond his  years.  It  had  been  called  his  "pose."  But  that 
pose,  which  was  more  than  half  nature,  was  a  singularly 
unfortunate  thing  for  a  man  thrown  upon  the  world,  in  a 
strange  country,  among  new  manners,  through  which  he 
must  find  his  way.  And  just  now,  while  the  Englishmen 
concluded  various  arrangements  for  their  plan,  he  was 
struggling  with  his  temper,  and  only  won  the  battle  when 


158         The  House   of  de  Mailly 

Trevor  and  Rockwell  finally  rose  to  depart.  Vincent  was 
returning  to  the  plantation,  and  the  clergyman,  with  Lucy 
in  his  mind,  purposed  accompanying  him. 

"  Coming,  Charles?"  asked  his  cousin. 

Fairfield  hesitated.  The  plantation  held  out  no  special 
inducement  to  him.  His  blood  had  been  heated,  and  he 
was  eager  for  some  excitement  after  a  long  period  of  inertia. 
"  1  think  not,  Vincent,  since  you  have  company.  If  Jen- 
nings, here,  cannot  put  me  up  for  the  night,  I'll  go  up  to 
Mrs.  Miriam's,  or  to  Reynolds'." 

"  I'll  ride  with  you,  Trevor.  1  can  cross  the  river  at  King's 
Ferry.  My  people  will  expect  me  to-night.  Our  town 
house  is  shut." 

"Very  well.  1  leave  you,  then,  Charles.  You'll  ride 
out  in  the  morning  with  M.  de  Mailly  and  Carleton. " 

"Ay,  and  me,  too,"  called  young  Carroll  after  him. 
"I'll  see  Castor  rode  with  the  rest  of  you,  and,  egad,  I'll 
go  to  the  race  as  well!" 

"We  shall  be  delighted,  Charles,"  replied  Vincent,  as 
he  left  the  room. 

"Until  to-morrow,  then.  Good -day,  sir,"  said  Paca, 
bowing  with  courtly  politeness  to  Claude,  who  liked  him 
thenceforth. 

The  four  who  remained  in  the  jockey -club -room  sat 
silent  together  for  some  moments  after  they  had  been 
left  alone.  Then  Claude,  looking  at  young  Charles, 
rose. 

"Come,  Mr.  Carroll,  since  we  are  making  your  holiday 
together,  let  us  go  and  finish  it  with  a  supper  at  my  inn. 
You  will  forgive  me,  messieurs  " — he  turned  to  Sir  Charles 
and  Jennings — "  you  will  forgive  me  that  1  do  not  propose 
a  party  of  four.  After  the  excitement  of  the  cock-fight 
this  afternoon,  and  my  ride  for  to-morrow,  we  will  make 
our  evening  quiet.  You  might  be  perhaps — how  do  you 
say — ennuye — by  it.  Where  shall  we  join  you  to-mor- 
row?" He  smiled  gently  as  he  beheld  the  lieutenant 
regarding  him  with  knitted  brows.  Indeed,  to  Fairfield 
it  seemed  that  the  Frenchman  had  read  his  mind,  and  was 


Annapolis  159 

bound  to  thwart  his  hopes  of  arranging  a  gentleman's 
night  in  Jennings'  company. 

"Come,  come,  monsieur,  be  more  lenient.  Dine  with 
us  at  the  '  Blue  Balls '  and  join  us  in  a  game  of  ecarte 
later." 

"Eh,  yes!"  cried  young  Charles,  eagerly.  "T would 
be  vastly  more  fun!"  He  pulled  de  Mailly's  sleeve. 

"No,  no,  Charles,  not  you!  It — your  father — damme, 
you  ain't  out  of  school  yet,  you  know,"  stammered  Jen- 
nings, voicing  Fairfi eld's  thought. 

Carroll  flushed  hot  with  anger,  and  Claude  bit  his  lip 
before  he  answered,  quietly:  "It  is  impossible  that  1 
should  dine  with  you  to-night,  gentlemen,  though  I 
thank  you  for  your  kindness.  Mr.  Carroll  is  my 
guest." 

Young  Charles  looked  at  him  with  sulky  admiration. 
He  was  furious  with  Jennings,  mortally  ashamed  of  his 
youth,  but  still  appreciative  of  de  Mailly's  tact.  Fair- 
field,  seeing  nothing  for  it  but  to  accept  his  disappointment 
gracefully,  rose,  seized  Jennings  by  the  arm,  waved  an 
au  revoir  to  de  Mailly,  and  with  a,  "  Be  at  the '  Blue  Balls ' 
with  your  beasts  at  ten  in  the  morning,  and  we'll  ride  out 
together,"  drew  his  willing  companion  away  to  their 
favorite  night-haunt. 

De  Mailly  looked  after  them  as  they  passed  through  the 
door,  and  then  stood  still  for  an  instant,  considering.  When 
he  turned  again  to  young  Charles,  the  boy's  face  wore  a 
new  expression. 

"I'm  very  sorry,  monsieur,  if  I've  spoiled  your  night. 
1  should  have  gone  home  without  you." 

Claude  started  forward  impulsively,  and  drew  the  boy's 
arm  through  his  own.  "En  avantl"  he  cried,  gayly. 
"Why,  Charles,  I'd  rather  you  a  thousand  times  over  than 
any  other  blood  in  Annapolis.  'Tis  a  good  race,  yours. 
Your  father  is  as  gallant  a  gentleman  as  1  have  met,  and 
you  are  his  son.  Come  then,  Charles,  we'll  drink  to  you 
both,  to-night,  in  the  oldest  Madeira  that  Mistress  Vawse 
will  sell." 


160         The  House   of  de  Mailly 

At  a  quarter  to  eleven  o'clock  on  the  following  morning 
a  party  of  three  drew  rein  at  the  portico  of  the  Trevor  house. 
Young  Carroll's  holiday  was  over,  and,  despite  his  words 
to  Vincent,  he  was  again  under  St.  Quentin's  pleasant 
sway.  Fairneld  and  Jennings  bore  visible  traces  of  their 
manner  of  spending  the  previous  night;  but  Claude's 
eyes  were  as  bright  as  a  bird's,  his  hand  was  steady  on 
the  bridle,  and  his  nerves  had  been  toned  for  the  coming 
trial  by  a  sound  night's  sleep.  A  group  consisting  of  Vin- 
cent, the  four  ladies  of  his  household,  Will  Paca,  and  George 
Rockwell,  who,  to  Lucy's  dismay,  had  stopped  overnight 
with  his  host,  greeted  the  new-comers  merrily  from  the 
portico.  When  they  had  dismounted,  and  a  black  had 
taken  their  horses,  the  whole  party  proceeded  leisurely  to 
the  rear  of  the  house,  past  the  small  barn,  the  quarters, 
and  the  tobacco-houses,  to  the  long,  narrow  stables,  where 
the  many  horses  for  work  and  pleasure  were  kept.  In  front 
of  these  stables  was  a  four-acre  paddock,  fenced  off  from 
the  general  grounds,  and  only  to  be  entered  through  a 
wide  gate  to  the  south.  Two  hundred  yards  behind  this 
paddock  the  tobacco -fields  began,  and  the  first  of  them 
was  bounded  by  a  broad  ditch  full  of  water,  to  be  used  for 
irrigation  in  dry  seasons. 

As  the  group  passed  the  slave-quarters,  Thompson,  the 
overseer,  came  towards  them  with  the  key  to  the  stables. 
And  while  Trevor,  Paca,  and  Claude  went  with  him  round 
to  the  stalls,  the  rest  entered  the  field  itself  to  wait.  The 
ladies,  all  of  them  more  or  less  curious  to  watch  this  test 
of  de  Mailly's  horsemanship,  stood  still  in  the  open  gate- 
way, nervous  lest  the  horse  should  come  too  near.  In 
the  interval  of  waiting  Rockwell  was  devoting  himself  to 
Lucy,  who  received  his  attentions  with  a  coldness  all  but 
rude ;  young  Jennings  talked  with  Virginia  and  her  mother, 
who  stood  a  little  to  one  side;  and  Fairfield  seized  the  op- 
portunity of  conversing  in  a  low  tone  with  Deborah,  who, 
dressed  in  yellow  and  blue,  was  as  pretty  as  the  morning 
itself.  She  stood  leaning  close  against  the  fence,  all  ears 
for  Sir  Charles,  but  not  turning  her  eyes  from  the  closed 


Annapolis  161 

door  of  the  stable,  responding  now  and  then,  half  absently, 
to  the  very  personal  remarks  of  her  cavalier.  She  did 
not  perceive  a  sudden,  slow  rustle  at  her  side,  along  the 
very  ruffle  of  her  dress;  but  suddenly  the  lieutenant  darted 
forward. 

"Good  God,  Deborah!— Move— 

"What  is  it?"  she  cried,  startled  at  his  tone. 

He  was  peering  along  the  grass  in  front  of  them.  "  I'd 
stake  my  oath — 'twas  a  water -moccasin/'  he  muttered, 
half  to  himself. 

The  girl  lifted  her  petticoats  with  both  hands  and  shrank 
close  to  him.  "A  water-moccasin!  Surely  not  here — " 
She  stared  nervously  at  the  turf,  but  saw  nothing.  The 
snake,  if  there  had  been  one,  was  gone. 

"Nay — 'tisn't  there.  Don't  be  frightened.  It  was  a 
fancy,"  he  rejoined,  suspicious  of  his  own  eyes. 

Deborah  might  have  said  more  or  retreated  to  Madam 
Trevor,  but  for  the  fact  that,  at  this  moment,  the  stable 
doors  slid  open  and  Castor,  with  de  Mailly  on  his  back, 
trotted  into  the  field.  Will  Paca  and  Vincent  followed  him 
on  foot  and  made  their  way  over  to  the  party  in  the  gateway. 

Castor,  first-born  of  twin  foals,  and  the  one  who  had 
all  the  strength  and  beauty  alike  of  the  two,  was  an  enor- 
mous jet-black  animal,  seventeen  hands  high,  with  a 
long,  swinging  step  and  three  paces  got  from  no  blooded 
ancestors,  but  merely  through  one  of  those  accidents  some- 
times permitted  by  the  gods.  He  was  an  animal  fiery 
enough  of  temper,  and  particular  about  his  riders.  Vincent 
Trevor,  indeed,  had  been  dubious  about  the  Frenchman's 
ability  even  to  mount  him ;  but  as  Claude  swung  into  the 
saddle  and  took  the  reins  from  the  shining  black  neck,  all 
doubts  were  forgotten.  Castor  turned  his  head,  glanced  at 
the  man  who  sat  him  so  easily,  and  neighed  with  satis- 
faction. As  they  trotted  together  into  the  paddock  Claude 
rode  in  the  French  fashion,  as  though  he  were  part  of  the 
horse,  never  rising  in  the  saddle. 

"Egad,  he  knows  how!"  observed  Rockwell  to  Madam 
Trevor,  as  Castor  came  round  the  field  towards  them. 
II 


'i  62        The  House    of  de  Mailly 

"1  vow  I've  seen  nothing  so  pretty/'  assented  that  lady, 
good-humoredly.  "Eh,  Lucy?" 

"1  much  prefer  the  English  fashion,"  retorted  Lucy, 
irritably. 

"How  d'  ye  like  him,  Vincent?"  asked  his  cousin,  as 
the  horse  broke  into  a  canter. 

"Very  well." 

"The  fellow  knows  his  business,  I  think,"  observed  Will 
Paca,  dryly. 

"His  business! — You  don't  think — "  Trevor  raised  his 
brows. 

Paca  shrugged. 

"1  protest,  Will!"  cried  Charles  Fairfield,  warmly. 
"The  man  is  a  gentleman.  1  stake  my  oath  on  it.  I've 
played  with  him,  and  1  know." 

"  Oh — 1  ask  pardon.  I  did  not  know  your  acquaintance 
was  intimate,"  rejoined  the  other  at  once,  with  a  proper 
manner,  and  Fairfield  was  satisfied.  At  the  same  time 
he  felt  a  light  touch  on  his  arm,  and,  turning,  he  found 
Deborah  looking  at  him  with  a  light  in  her  eyes. 

"I'm  so  glad  you  said  it,"  she  whispered.  "He  is  a 
gentleman." 

But,  while  Fairfield  carried  her  hand  to  his  lips,  he  felt, 
in  some  way,  that  her  speech  had  not  brought  him  un- 
mitigated pleasure. 

Meantime  Claude,  who  had  lost  all  consciousness  of  an 
audience  in  his  joy  at  being  again  upon  the  back  of  a 
fine  animal,  was  increasing  the  pace  of  his  steed.  The 
long,  light  steps  multiplied  in  number,  the  black  hoofs 
flew  faster  yet,  till  the  on-lookers  marvelled  at  the  ease  of 
the  tremendous  speed,  and  Will  Paca  shook  his  head  as 
he  thought  of  his  Doris  and  her  rider. 

"I'll  give  you  three  lengths  start  on  the  track,  Will," 
cried  Trevor,  as  de  Mailly  flew  by  for  the  fourth  time, 
never  moving  a  hair's-breadth  in  the  saddle. 

"Egad,  he'll  need  it!"  put  in  Sir  Charles. 

Deborah,  her  cheeks  slightly  flushed,  moved  to  one  side 
where  she  could  watch  without  interruption.  She  saw 


"HORSE  AND  RIDER  HAD  FLASHED  OUT  AT  THE  GATE" 


Annapolis  163 

Claude  pass  the  stable  and  reach  the  far  corner  of  the 
paddock.  There  something  happened.  A  thing  which 
looked,  at  the  distance,  like  a  black  thread,  shot  suddenly 
up  from  the  ground  and  struck  at  Castor's  leg  as  he  passed. 
The  horse  gave  a  quick,  terrified  plunge,  which  made  de 
Mailly  reel  in  the  saddle,  and  then  the  animal,  maddened 
with  fear,  started  forward  like  a  whirlwind.  He  had  reared 
completely  about  and  was  running  frantically  towards  the 
open  gateway.  At  the  beginning  there  had  been  a  slight 
scream  from  Lucy,  and  now  the  men,  their  faces  very  pale, 
pulled  the  women  quickly  away  from  the  opening.  Deb- 
orah moved  of  her  own  accord,  her  eyes  fixed  fast  on  the 
horse,  for  she  had  seen  what  started  its  flight.  In  an 
instant  horse  and  rider  had  flashed,  comet -like,  out  at 
the  gate,  and,  as  they  passed,  Deborah  knew  that  de  Mailly 
had  looked  at  her,  and  she  had  seen  something  very  like 
a  smile  cross  his  set  lips.  Beyond  the  gate  the  horse 
veered  again  and  made  towards  the  south,  in  the  direction 
of  the  tobacco-fields. 

Claude  saw,  with  relief,  that  he  had  an  apparently  un- 
obstructed space  before  him.  It  was  all  that  he  could  do 
now  to  keep  himself  on  the  horse,  who  no  longer  went  at 
an  even  gait,  but  varied  his  gallop  with  leaps  and  plunges 
caused  by  pain.  He  was  utterly  beyond  all  control. 
Claude  lay  over  on  his  back,  both  hands  twisted  in  the  long 
mane,  his  eyes  half  closed,  breathing  with  some  difficulty, 
but  quite  sure  of  himself  so  long  as  his  way  was  clear. 
Suddenly,  however,  as  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  fields 
beyond,  his  heart  rose  into  his  throat,  and  then  sank  again 
with  a  sensation  which  made  him  dizzy.  A  hundred  yards 
ahead  was  a  twenty-foot  ditch  of  water,  which  no  living 
horse  could  clear.  If  Castor  saw  it,  and  had  still  sense 
of  his  own,  he  might  turn  off.  If  not,  the  horse  was  lost, 
and  Claude  himself  must  take  desperate  chances.  Many 
things  flashed  through  his  mind  in  the  ensuing  seconds. 
Most  vividly  of  all  the  figure  of  Deborah,  as  he  had  seen 
her  a  moment  before,  stood  out  before  him.  Then  for  one 
more  instant  his  mind  was  a  white  blank.  They  were 


164         The  House   of  de   Mailly 

ten  yards  from  the  stream  now,  and  the  horse  was  moving 
straight  on.  Mechanically,  Claude  took  his  left  foot  from 
the  stirrup  and  swung  it  over  Castor's  back.  For  one 
frightful  instant  he  lay  full  along  the  animal.  Then,  not 
very  much  aware  of  what  he  was  doing,  he  had  let  himself 
over  the  side,  felt  solid  ground  whirl  under  his  feet,  and 
knew  that  all  was  well  with  him.  A  moment  later  he 
vaguely  heard  the  heavy  splash  and  the  human-like  scream 
that  told  of  the  good  animal's  death.  Not  very  long  after 
that  he  was  looking  into  Vincent's  face,  and,  as  a  brandy 
flask  was  held  out  to  him,  he  murmured,  with  as  much 
feeling  as  he  was  capable  of  just  then : 

"  Monsieur,  I  shall  never  be  able  to  express  to  you  my 
regret.  I  have  not  an  idea  how  it  occurred.  Believe 
me—" 

But  Vincent  was  actually  laughing  as  he  replied :  "  My 
dear  sir,  when  a  poisonous  snake  sends  its  fangs  into  your 
horse's  leg,  its  rider  need  offer  no  excuse  for  being  run 
away  with.  And,  'pon  my  soul,  for  the  sake  of  learning 
how  to  ride  as  you  have  done,  I'd  sacrifice  every  beast  that 
ever  was  stalled  on  this  place. — Eh,  Charlie?" 

And  from  behind  came  Fairfield's  voice,  crying  heartily, 
"Egad,  when  I  am  released  from  the  colonies,  I'll  go  and 
live  in  a  French  training-school  till  I  do  learn!" 

It  was  an  hour  later,  and  the  excitement  was  over,  when 
the  Reverend  George  Rockwell  ventured  to  address  Will 
Paca  on  the  same  subject:  "To  tell  the  truth,  my  dear 
sir,  I  confess  that  I  believe  there  must  have  been  some 
truth  in  your  suggestion  in  the  field  that  our — French 
friend  knew  more  than  a  gentleman  does  of  horses." 

Paca  turned  slowly  about  and  looked  at  him.  There 
was  no  answer  made  in  words ;  but  at  times  looks  are  ex- 
pressive of  inexpressible  things. 


CHAPTER  V 

Sambo 

CCORDING  to  the  laws  of  colonial  hospital- 
ity, Claude  stayed  all  day  and  overnight 
at  the  Trevor  house.  To  tell  the  truth,  he 
was  scarcely  fit  for  removal,  for  the  reaction 
from  his  nervous  strain  sent  him,  early  in 
the  afternoon,  to  the  chamber  prepared  for  him,  from 
which  he  emerged  at  ten  o'clock  next  morning  with  many 
apologies  for  tardiness  on  his  tongue.  He  saw  no  one, 
however,  to  whom  to  deliver  them.  The  house  was  de- 
serted. Finding  his  way,  after  a  search  through  the 
empty  hall  and  parlor,  into  the  sunny  breakfast-room, 
he  discovered  there  a  single  place  set  at  the  table,  and 
Adam  lounging  in  the  doorway.  The  slave  straightened 
and  saluted  him  upon  his  entrance. 

"Sit  down,  sah — sit  down.  I'll  bring  yo'  breakfast 
right  away." 

Upon  this,  he  darted  from  the  house  and  disappeared 
down  the  path  towards  the  kitchen,  to  return  in  two  or  three 
minutes  with  a  large  tray  upon  which  stood  a  variety  of 
smoking  dishes.  This  he  set  before  the  guest,  who  pro- 
ceeded to  discuss  them  with  a  light  appetite.  While  he 
ate  he  pondered,  uneasily,  on  how  he  was  expected  to  take 
his  departure.  In  this  matter  Adam  came  presently  to 
his  assistance. 

"  Pa 'don,  Mas'  de  Mailly,  but  Mas' Vincent  wait  this  mo'n 
till  nine  t'  see  you,  den  he  ride  out  to  the  fields  an'  tell  me  t' 
say  t'  he  be  back  f o'  dinne'  at  noon ;  ask  yo'  health  den. " 

"So  I'm  to  stay  till  this  afternoon?"  asked  Claude,  in 
some  surprise. 


1 66        The  House   of  de  Mailly 

J 

"Yes,  sah,"  responded  the  slave,  and  his  prompt  tone 
settled  the  matter. 

Claude,  who  had  quite  finished  his  meal,  rose  and  strolled 
idly  to  the  door  which  looked  out  upon  the  garden.  At 
the  far  end  of  this,  among  her  roses,  was  Madam  Trevor. 
De  Mailly  did  not  recognize  her  at  the  distance,  but  he 
turned  suddenly  to  the  slave  who  was  clearing  the  table. 

"  Can  you  tell  me,  Adam,  where  Mistress  Travis  will  be 
at  this  hour?" 

"Miss  Deb?  Oh,  she's  mos'  like  at  de  still-room/'  He 
went  over  to  the  door.  "  See  li'l  house  dere  cross  the  ya'd? 
She's  mos'  like  dere." 

"  Thank  you. "  Claude  nodded  to  the  man  and  went  out 
of  the  house,  around  the  terrace,  and  so  through  the  yard 
towards  the  small  building  whose  surrounding  lilac-bushes 
were  all  in  seed.  Here  on  the  step,  alone  and  disconsolate, 
sat  Sambo,  Deborah's  favorite  little  darky. 

Sambo  was  very  forlorn  this  morning.  A  strong  ap- 
preciation of  the  woe  of  this  wretched  life  had  come  to  his 
spirit  under  the  guise  of  an  empty  stomach.  All  of  three 
hours  ago  Thompson,  the  overseer,  discovered  him  in  the 
climacteric  moment  of  a  glorious  charge  on  the  chickens 
in  the  runs.  An  entire  flock  of  fat,  white  pullets  were  in 
full  flight  before  this  single  son  of  Ethiopia,  whose  trium- 
phant war-cry  had  unfortunately  reached  the  quarters. 
Thereupon  Thompson,  who  had  no  soul  for  the  sublime, 
seized  the  conqueror  by  the  tail  of  his  tow-linen  toga  and 
dragged  him  from  the  field  to  his  parental  cabin,  where, 
in  the  presence  of  Chloe,  his  mother,  a  most  telling  rebuke 
was  administered.  The  mother's  heart  hardened  towards 
the  small  sinner,  and  he  had  been  driven  outside  in  the  very 
face  of  bacon  spluttering  over  the  fire  and  beans  baking 
fragrantly  in  the  embers.  After  an  unhappy  wandering, 
he  at  last  sought  the  homely  protection  of  Deborah  and 
the  still-room.  Deborah,  too,  had  left  him,  with  the  prom- 
ise, however,  of  getting  him  something  to  eat  when  she  re- 
turned. So  here,  in  melancholy  resignation,  sat  Sambo, 
as  Claude  approached. 


Sambo  167 

"Can  you  tell  me  where  Mistress  Deborah  is?"  repeated 
de  Mailly. 

"She'm  gone  to  Huckleberry  Swamp,"  vouchsafed  the 
stoic. 

"Urn — "  Claude  reflected.  Huckleberry  Swamp  sounded 
definite,  but  he  was  unfamiliar  with  the  country.  "  Where 
is  that?"  he  inquired,  meekly. 

Sambo  swept  a  black  thumb  over  one  shoulder,  back  of 
his  head.  "  Dat  way. " 

Again  Claude  hesitated,  finally  venturing  the  request: 
"Could  you,  perhaps,  show  me  a  little  of  the  way?" 

"  You'm  goin'  fin'  Miss  Deb?" 

Claude  bowed. 

"Til  come." 

The  small  figure  rose  suddenly,  descended  from  his  dais, 
and  put  one  small  black  fist  trustfully  into  de  Mailly 's. 
Claude  looked  down  into  the  childish  face,  with  its  round 
pate  covered  with  black,  woolly,  hair,  and  a  gentle  light 
came  into  his  eyes.  He  was  fond  of  children. 

The  swamp  appeared  to  be  some  distance  away.  The 
child's  steps  were  short,  and  Claude  would  not  hurry  him. 
At  last,  however,  they  came  upon  a  narrow,  grassy  lane, 
bordered  on  either  side  by  a  tangle  of  vines  and  bushes, 
at  the  end  of  which  was  the  so-called  swamp — a  marsh  near- 
ly dry  at  this  season,  save  for  a  pool  in  its  very  centre.  Upon 
the  edge  of  this  they  paused.  Before  them  was  a  waste 
wherefrom  sprang  a  few  saplings,  some  young  willows,  a 
tangle  of  flaming  tiger-lilies,  and  a  host  of  those  plants 
which  grow  in  damp  places.  Claude  saw  no  sign  of  a 
human  being,  but  Sambo  presently  sprang  forward. 

"  Deh  she  is !"  he  cried,  running  into  the  brush.  Claude 
followed  rapidly,  coming  at  last  in  sight  of  her  whom  he 
sought. 

Deborah  knelt  upon  the  damp  ground,  bending  over  a 
plant  which  she  was  minutely  examining.  Claude  had 
seen  it  and  its  flower  often  enough,  he  thought.  The  stem 
was  perhaps  three  feet  high,  with  long,  narrow,  spotted 
leaves,  and  clusters  of  small  purplish  flowers.  These 


168         The  House  of  de  Mailly 

were  what  Deborah  was  studying,  and  on  her  flushed 
face  was  an  expression  which  Claude  had  not  beheld  be- 
fore. Startled  by  Sambo's  appearance,  she  looked  up. 

"Oh,  good-morning!"  she  said,  rising,  and  extending 
her  hand. 

"  One  finds  you  in  curious  places/'  he  observed,  bending 
over  it. 

"  It  is  my  work.     Has  Dr.  Carroll  come  this  morning?" 

" He  had  not  when  I  left  the  house." 

"  He  will,  though,  I  think.     Are  we  to  go  back  now?" 

"  Not  until  you  are  quite  ready,  mademoiselle. " 

"I'm  ready.  I  must  take  this  with  me."  From  a  little 
bag  hanging  at  her  side  she  drew  a  small  pruning-knife 
and  two  pieces  of  cotton  cloth.  Having  cut  the  stem  of  the 
plant  before  her,  she  wrapped  about  it  one  square  of  the 
cloth  and  took  it  up  in  her  left  hand. 

"  Permit  me  to  carry  it  for  you." 

" Hold  it,  then,  where  the  cloth  is." 

"Why?  Surely  it  is  not  unsafe  to  touch?"  He  looked 
at  her  curiously. 

"I  don't  know.  Some  things  are.  This  is  a  spotted- 
hemlock.  I  fancied  it  a  water  plant,  but  'tis  another  va- 
riety. I  will  test  it  to-day,  if  the  doctor  doesn't  come.  Oh! 
Here  is  something  more  to  take  home."  Down  in  the  soil 
at  their  feet  grew  two  large  fungi,  which  bore  a  slight  re- 
semblance to  table  mushrooms,  but  were  far  more  beautiful 
than  they.  The  umbrella-shaped  cups  were  of  a  brilliant 
scarlet  color,  fading  inwards,  in  gracefully  curving  lines, 
to  a  pale  centre.  A  faint  acrid  odor  emanated  from  them 
as  Deborah  knelt  and  cut  them  deftly  at  the  ground's 
edge.  Taking  them  up  in  her  cloth,  she  held  them  a  little 
away  from  her  face. 

"What's  dose,  Miss  Deb?"  inquired  Sambo,  eying  them 
admiringly. 

"A  sort  of  mushroom,  Sambo.  Oh,  a  most  excellent 
dinner  dish  they'd  make!"  she  added,  laughing. 

And  hungry  Sambo  heard  her.  Were  these  pretty  things 
good  to  eat?  He  had  seen  not  a  few  of  them  in  the  grass 


Sambo  169 

about  the  roads  and  fields.  Here  was  a  breakfast  ready 
for  him.  He  considered  a  little,  the  idea  of  cooking  not 
entering  his  head.  Neither  Deborah  nor  de  Mailly  knew 
when  he  ceased  to  follow  them,  it  merely  occurring  to  them 
by  the  time  they  reached  home  that  Sambo  had  not  been 
with  them  for  some  time.  Claude,  who  had  found  the  way 
long  in  coming,  deemed  it  only  too  short  on  the  return. 
And  Deborah,  demurely  realizing  that  she  was  perfectly 
happy,  continued  to  talk  to  him  in  that  tranquil  manner 
which,  from  its  apparent  indifference  and  self-possession, 
seemed  such  an  anomaly,  considering  her  youth. 

"  May  I  ask  the  use  of  this?"  asked  de  Mailly,  curiously, 
holding  out  the  spray  of  spotted-hemlock. 

"I  don't  know  its  use.  'Tis  what  I  am  going  to  try  to 
find  out  if  the  doctor  does  not  come  this  morning.  I  am 
ignorant  if  it  is  as  poisonous  as  water-hemlock.  I  will 
try  to  learn." 

Claude  bit  his  lip.     "  And  if  the  doctor  does  come?" 

"  It  will  be  most  interesting.  •  We  are  to  try  the  effect  of 
two  alkaloids  in  one  system,  and  I  must  note  the  differ- 
ent symptoms,  the  combined  result,  and  the  complications 
which  ensue  from  the  interaction." 

"  You  give  these — poisons — to  some  beast.     Is  it  not  so?" 

Deborah  hesitated  for  a  little,  finally  replying,  quietly, 
"A  cat." 

"  And  he  will  no  doubt  die?" 

"  No — perhaps  not.  That  is  our  hope,  monsieur.  If  we 
could  discover  one  thing  which  might  counterbalance  the 
effect  of  another,  can  you  not  see  that  it  might  some  time 
serve  to  save  men's  lives?  It  is  unbecoming  in  me  to  speak 
of  it,  but  did  you  not  know  that  the  liquid  given  you"  as 
medicine  for  your  fever  I  distilled  from  the  plant  called 
monkshood?  And  did  not  that  medicine  help  to  restore 
you  to  health?  And  yet,  sir,  it  was  a  virulent  poison,  ten 
drops  of  which  would  kill  an  animal." 

De  Mailly  looked  at  the  girl  in  surprise.  She  was  cer- 
tainly unlike  any  woman  that  he  had  ever  met.  "For- 
give me,"  he  said,  earnestly.  "1  did  not  understand  you. 


170        The  House  of  de  Mailly 

I  do  admire  and  respect  this  work  of  yours.  My  grati- 
tude— how  shall  I  express  it?  There  is,  indeed,  little  that 
one  can  say  to  the  preserver  of  his  life — 

"  Please,  don't ! "  she  cried,  impulsively,  and  then  stopped. 
He  was  regarding  her  so  earnestly,  and  his  look  said  so 
much  more  than  his  tongue  had  ever  done,  that  she  found 
no  words  at  her  command.  So  they  fell  into  silence  as 
once  more  they  approached  the  house. 

Dr.  Carroll,  returning  on  the  day  before  from  his  shoot- 
ing, and,  wearied  by  the  dulness  of  Annapolis  in  mid- 
summer, kept  his  promise  and  came  out  to  see  Deb- 
orah. He  found  her,  ignorant  of  his  arrival,  preparing 
her  retort  for  the  distillation  of  the  water-hemlock,  while 
Claude,  willingly  pressed  into  service,  had  gone  to  the 
kitchen  to  obtain  a  lighted  coal  for  the  tripod  of  charcoal. 
An  addition  to  the  equipment  of  the  room  had  recently 
been  made.  Beside  the  cupboard  in  the  corner  stood  a 
good-sized  cage,  its  top  and  bottom  made  of  pine  boards 
held  together  by  narrow  wooden  slats  nailed  upon  all 
four  sides.  Within  this  prison  of  the  condemned  sat  a 
half-grown  tortoise-shell  tabby,  presented  yesterday  to 
the  establishment  by  Sambo.  As  Deborah  took  up  her 
hemlock  and  with  careful  hands  began  to  strip  away  its 
leaves  and  blossoms,  she  glanced  now  and  then  at  her 
prisoner  with  an  expression  half  of  pity  and  half  of  specula- 
tive interest.  The  animal  looked  very  comfortable  on  its 
bed  of  grass,  its  toilet  just  completed,  with  slow  eyes  blink- 
ing at  the  light ;  never  a  suspicion  in  its  head  of  a  possible 
swift  death  at  the  hands  of  the  slender  girl  at  the  table 
yonder.  The  stillness  was  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of 
the  doctor. 

"  Good  -  morning  to  you,  Mistress  Debbyl  At  work, 
eh?  Oho!  Water-hemlock!" 

"  No.  This  is  Maculatum.  See  the  leaves — spotted.  Is 
this  as  poisonous  as  the  other,  do  you  think?" 

The  doctor  chuckled.  "Thou'rt  a  born  botanist,  Deb- 
by.  This  poisonous?  'Tis  historic.  Socrates  died  by  it. 
'Tis  as  well  obtained  by  crushing  in  alcohol,  though. 


Sambo  171 

Did  you  bring  the  root?  Now  that  was  carelessness. 
The  root  is  most  virulent — delightfully  virulent.  You 
should  be  sent  back  to  get  it,  only  that  1  am  not  here  to 
distil  this  morning. — Ah,  Monsieur  Claude  !  Good-day  ! 
Are  you  turned  neophyte?" 

Claude,  with  a  shovelful  of  embers,  had  halted  in  the 
doorway.  At  Carroll's  question  he  smiled  and  came 
forward.  "  1  should  be  glad  if  1  might  stay  and  look  on. 
I  am  wofully  ignorant  in  these  matters/' 

Deborah  took  the  shovel  from  his  hands,  emptying  its 
contents  carefully  into  the  tripod.  "Thank  you.  Be 
seated,  if  you  care  to  watch  us." 

"  By  all  means,  sit  yonder,  de  Mailly,  and  look  on.  Miss 
Travis  is  preparing  some  Conium  maculatum  for  distilla- 
tion, though  she  will  get  a  poor  result  from  the  mere  leaves 
and  flowers.  And  behold  in  me,  monsieur,  the  conscience- 
less wretch  about  to  destroy  life  in  that  hapless  pussy,  for 
the  mere  gratification  of  criminal  instinct. — What's  this, 
Deborah?" 

The  doctor's  change  of  tone  was  so  sudden  and  so  marked 
that  the  girl  turned  quickly  about  to  behold  him  standing 
over  the  fungi  which  she  had  placed  at  the  far  end  of  the 
table. 

"That?  Madam  uses  it  sometimes  for  fly -poison.  I 
purposed  inquiring  of  you  if  the  alkaloid  could  be  ex- 
tracted." 

Carroll  shook  his  head  gravely.  "It  doesn't  need  ex- 
traction. The  whole  thing  is  replete  with  poison.  'Tis 
amanita  muscaria,  the  deadliest  of  all  fungi.  Have  you 
seen  the  symptoms?" 

Deborah  shook  her  head. 

"  Then  you  shall.  1  mind  me  1  had  a  case  of  them  many 
years  ago — a  family  ate  them  at  supper.  All  four  died.* 
There  was  no  help  that  I  or  any  one  else  had  to  give.  Such 
agony  1  have  never  seen.  The  effect  is  not  apparent  for 
from  four  to  nine  hours  after  eating,  though  internal  dis- 

*  This  case  is  taken  from  a  medical  journal  of  1877. 


172        The  House    of  de  Mailly 

semination  of  the  poison  must  begin  at  once.  After  the 
case  1  mentioned,  1  experimented  a  good  deal  with  them. 
Time  does  not  seem  to  affect  their  power.  After  four 
months'  keeping  1  knew  one  of  them  to  cause  death  to  a 
dog  in  ten  hours.  Would  you  care  to  try  this  to-day  on 
your  cat  there,  Deborah,  in  conjunction  with  one  of  the 
liquids?" 

Deborah  did  not  reply  at  once,  and  Claude  hoped  that 
she  would  decline  the  proposition.  Her  answer  was  a 
question:  "Will  you  stay,  doctor,  till  the  fungus  acts? 
1  couldn't  distinguish  the  different  symptoms  alone." 

The  doctor  reflected.  "  'Tis  eleven  now.  By  four  the 
thing  should  be  under  way.  I'll  get  home  by  six.  Yes, 
I'll  stay." 

"Then  let  us  give  it  at  once." 
"Very  well.     What  will  you  combine  with  it?" 
Deborah  went  to  the  cupboard  and  surveyed  her  array 
of  phials.     Finally,  selecting  one  filled  with  a  clear,  white 
liquid,  with  less  sediment  at  the  bottom  than  most  of  her 
mixtures  contained,  she  brought  it  over  to  Dr.  Carroll. 
"What  is  it?"  he  asked. 

"It  is  from  nightshade.     1  made  it  a  week  ago." 
"  Atropine.     Symptoms?    Can  you  give  them?" 
Claude  looked  at  her  closely  as  she  made  reply: 
"  1  gave  forty  drops  to  a  cat.     It  seemed  to  be  quiet  for 
about  three-quarters  of  an  hour.     Then  it  tried  to  mew, 
but  that  was  hard  for  it.     The  muscles  of  its  throat  were 
strained.     After  a  little  it  began  to  bite  at  things  in  the 
cage.     Its  eyes  were  large,  and  the  pupils  full,  as  if  it  were 
in  the  dark.     It  drank  all  1  would  give  it,  but  could  not 
swallow  easily.     Then  there  came  spasms.     Finally  it  fell 
asleep,  and  died  three  hours  after  the  dose." 

The  doctor  nodded  with  satisfaction,  but  Deborah, 
glancing  at  de  Mailly  from  beneath  her  lids,  saw  him  look 
at  her  in  strong  displeasure.  Instantly  she  flushed  and 
her  head  straightened  defiantly  back. 

"Monsieur,  I  do  not  think  that  you  will  enjoy  our  ex- 
periments here  this  morning.  Will  you  be  so  obliging 


Sambo  173 

as  to  join  my  cousins,  Virginia  and  Lucy,  in  some  pleas- 
anter  occupation?" 

There  was  a  note  of  piqued  command  in  the  tone  which 
Claude,  who  knew  women  well,  would  have  disobeyed  in 
any  other  case.  Now,  however,  he  made  no  reply,  but 
rose  in  grave  silence,  bowed  to  her,  and  left  the  room. 

"On  my  life,  that  was  not  a  gallant  thing,"  observed 
Carroll,  placidly,  when  their  sensitive  guest  had  crossed 
the  yard. 

Deborah  made  no  answer.  She  was  more  deeply  hurt 
than  she  would  have  believed  possible,  and  she  did  not 
choose  that  her  voice  should  betray  her.  Crossing  again 
to  the  cupboard,  she  took  from  its  lowest  shelf  a  deep-bowled 
horn  spoon,  with  which  she  knelt  before  the  cat's  cage. 
In  the  mean  time  the  doctor  had  been  occupied  in  cutting 
the  fungus  into  small  cubes.  These,  together  with  the 
atropine,  he  took  over  to  his  pupil,  who  was  now  on  the 
floor  with  the  cat  in  her  lap.  She  took  the  amanita  quietly 
from  her  companion's  hands,  placed  one  piece  in  the  creat- 
ure's mouth,  and  manipulated  its  throat  till  it  swallowed 
convulsively. 

"How  much  should  it  have?"  she  inquired,  grimly. 

"About  six  pieces  to  a  spoonful  of  this,"  returned  her 
mentor,  holding  up  the  atropine. 

Unflinchingly  Deborah  finished  her  task,  and  then, 
hastily  replacing  the  prisoner  in  its  cage,  she  fastened 
the  little  door.  Carroll,  who  had  looked  on  without  com- 
ment, helped  her  to  rise  from  the  floor,  and  silently  noted 
the  fact  that  her  hands  were  very  cold. 

"Come  now  to  the  house  and  rest,"  he  said,  with  quiet 
persuasion. 

She  looked  a  little  surprised.  "Surely  not.  I  will 
stay  here  and  watch.  Besides,  there  is  the  hemlock;" 
she  nodded  towards  the  little  heap  of  flowers  and  leaves 
by  the  retort.  "  1  will  distil  that.  The  fire  is  ready." 

"No,  Debby.  You're  tired.  Hark  you,  the  poisons 
will  certainly  not  show  for  half  an  hour,  if  they  do  then. 
It  is  probable  that  the  muscaria  will  retard  the  action  of  the 


174        The  House   of  de  Mailly 

atropine  for  a  much  longer  time.  Then  you  must  have  your 
full  wits  about  you,  for  'twill  be  the  most  interesting  thing 
we've  done.  Come  now,  as  your  physician,  I  insist." 

But  though  Charles  Carroll's  will  was  strong,  that  of 
Deborah  Travis  was  stronger.  He  tried  persuasion, 
command,  and  entreaty,  finally  becoming  angry,  and  so 
losing  the  battle ;  for,  having  called  her  a  stubborn  hussy, 
there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  march  off  alone  to  the  house. 
The  girl  saw  him  go  with  a  sore  heart,  and  then,  dog- 
gedly determined,  returned  to  her  work,  the  pleasure  of 
it  gone  for  the  first  time  in  her  life.  When,  after  a  while, 
Sambo  strolled  thoughtfully  in  from  the  fields,  she  greeted 
him  with  positive  delight. 

The  little  boy  seated  himself,  Turk-fashion,  beside  the 
tripod,  to  watch  the  water  just  beginning  to  bubble  in  the 
body  of  the  retort.  It  was  an  occupation  which  he  dearly 
loved,  and  in  the  observation  of  which  he  was  a  privileged 
mortal,  for  Deborah  allowed  but  few  in  her  work-room. 
During  the  process  of  distillation  she  was  regarded  by 
Sambo  as  some  one  who  had  risen  for  the  time  to  super- 
natural heights.  She  was  quite  a  different  person  from 
the  Miss  Deb  whom  he  knew  ordinarily  out-of-doors.  On 
every  occasion,  however,  he  had  been  wont  to  talk  unceas- 
ingly either  to  her  or  to  himself  when  in  her  company.  To- 
day she  wondered  at  his  silence.  His  interest  in  the  action 
of  the  retort  was  as  great  as  ever,  but  every  effort  to  draw 
him  into  conversation  failed.  So,  after  a  time,  Deborah, 
her  closest  attention  demanded  by  the  approaching  end 
of  the  distillation,  when  the  purest  alkaloid  would  come 
from  her  plant,  ceased  also  to  speak,  and,  indeed,  almost 
forgot  his  presence.  The  liquid  had  been  filtered,  bottled, 
and  set  aside  for  its  second  vaporizing,  when  she  suddenly 
recollected  that  in  the  morning  she  had  promised  to  get 
something  for  the  little  negro  to  eat.  It  was  sufficient  cause 
for  his  silence. 

"Oh,  Sambo!  Indeed  I'm  sorry!  How  hungry  you 
must  be !  Come,  I'll  make  Chloe  give  you  some  of  our  din- 
ner to-day." 


Sambo  175 

Sambo's  big  eyes  opened  wide  and  he  slowly  shook  his 
head.  "Had  somf'n,  Miss  Debby.  D'  wan'  no  mo'." 

With  his  words  came  the  sound  of  the  dinner-horn  from 
the  quarters.  He  turned.  "Goin'  home,"  he  said,  wear- 
ily, trudging  out  of  the  room;  while  the  girl,  wondering 
who  had  fed  him,  proceeded  to  restore  order  in  her  immac- 
ulate little  domain.  When  she  had  finished  the  doctor  re- 
appeared. 

"Madam  Trevor  despatched  me,"  he  explained.  "Din- 
ner is  ready.  You're  tired,  Debby.  Come  in." 

"Yes,  sir,  at  once,  when  this  sleeve  is  down."  She 
pulled  at  the  short  elbow -sleeve  which  she  had  pushed  to 
the  shoulder  to  be  rid  of  its  ruffles. 

"How's  the  cat?"  asked  Carroll,  walking  over  to  its 
cage. 

The  creature  lay  upon  the  bed  of  grass  blinking  noncha- 
lantly, after  a  luncheon  of  milk. 

"  Perfectly  well,  eh?  Note,  Deborah,  that  the  action  of 
the  atropine  is  already  retarded  half  an  hour  beyond  its 
time.  Most  interesting,  on  my  word!" 

"  When  do  you  think  it  will  begin?" 

"That  is  difficult  to  say.  By  two  or  three  o'clock  at 
the  outside.  Then  death  will  probably  be  rapid.  Ready 
now?  Madam  is  a  little  impatient,  but  she'll  not  show 
it  before  de  Mailly.  There — the  horn  sounds  at  last." 

Dinner  was  gone  through  with  tediously,  and  at  three 
o'clock  the  entire  family,  with  the  guests,  sat  upon  the  por- 
tico, drowsy  with  heat  and  the  effort  of  talking.  The  doc- 
tor, perceiving  Deborah's  growing  impatience,  was  about 
to  dare  Madam  Trevor's  high  displeasure  by  carrying  her 
off  to  the  still-room  to  watch  their  cat,  when  suddenly 
around  the  corner  of  the  east  wing  dashed  a  negro,  hys- 
terical with  fear. 

"Blessed  Ma'y  be  praised!  Docto'  Ca'l,  come  quick! 
Sambo's  dyin'!  Gib  him  somf'n  fo'  he  go  off,  fo'  Christ's 
sake!" 

Before  the  last  words  were  spoken  the  doctor  had  jumped 
from  the  porch,  and  the  rest  of  the  party  rose  anxiously. 


176        The   House  of  de  Mailly 

"Sambo?  Sambo  dying,  Joe?  Surely  not!  I'll  come 
at  once." 

"  Which  cabin,  man?  Show  us  the  way,"  commanded 
Carroll,  energetically. 

Madam  Trevor  had  run  into  the  house  to  get  an  apron 
for  her  gown,  and  Deborah,  seizing  the  opportunity,  flew 
across  the  portico,  leaped  down  on  the  east  side,  and  caught 
up  with  the  doctor. 

"I  shall  come,  too,"  she  said.  And  Carroll's  silence 
gave  consent. 

The  cabin  in  which  Sambo  and  his  parents  lived  was  on 
the  northeastern  corner  of  the  quarters,  and,  as  the  doctor, 
with  his  conductor  and  Deborah,  approached  it,  a  group  of 
negro  women  about  its  door  hailed  them  with  expressions 
of  relief  and  praise.  Not  heeding  the  pious  ejaculations, 
the  three  passed  into  the  tiny  hut,  where,  upon  the  mattress 
in  a  corner,  covered  with  tattered  blankets,  lay  Sambo. 
Beside  him,  her  apron  over  her  head,  sat  the  mother,  Chloe, 
rocking  to  and  fro  in  absolute  terror. 

Carroll  knelt  at  once  beside  the  mattress  and  glanced 
sharply  into  the  child's  face.  Sambo  was  lying  deathly 
still,  breathing  heavily,  his  eyes  wide  open,  his  black  skin 
dripping  with  sweat.  The  doctor  felt  the  child's  pulse, 
opened  his  mouth,  and  gave  a  sharp  exclamation  as  he 
perceived  the  tongue  to  be  heavily  coated  with  a  thick, 
grayish  matter. 

"Sit  here,  Deborah,  and  hold  his  hands.  He'll  not  be 
quiet  long." 

Deborah  took  her  place  at  the  child's  head  and  clasped 
the  little  burning  hands  in  her  own,  while  Carroll,  in  a 
low  voice,  began  to  question  Chloe.  Sambo  noticed  Deb- 
orah, and  smiled  faintly  as  she  leaned  over  him.  In  a 
moment  more  a  swift  spasm  of  agony  passed  over  the  small 
features,  and  he  uttered  a  guttural  cry  of  pain.  Carroll 
ran  to  his  side,  while  the  colored  woman,  wringing  her 
hands,  sank  helplessly  on  the  floor.  The  paroxysm  was 
violent.  The  child's  body  twisted  and  writhed.  He 
rolled  over  and  over  upon  the  bed,  moaning  like  an  animal, 


Sambo  177 

or  shrieking  in  a  delirium  of  torture.  Deborah,  very  pale, 
and  Carroll,  silent  and  stern,  held  him  so  as  to  prevent  as 
much  exhaustion  of  strength  as  was  possible.  When  he 
began  to  grow  more  quiet,  Madam  Trevor  came  in,  looking 
angrily  at  her  cousin,  who,  however,  scarcely  saw  her. 

"It  is  possible  that  you  do  not  need  me,  doctor,"  she 
said,  in  her  most  offended  tone. 

Carroll  paid  small  attention  to  her  manner.  "If  you 
will  send  out  some  old  linen,  pepper,  mustard,  and  salt 
from  the  house,  it  will  be  all  that  we  can  use.  To  be  frank," 
he  added,  in  a  low  tone,  "there  is  little  hope  now." 

Madam  Trevor  looked  aghast,  and  her  manner  softened 
instantly.  "Little  hope!  What  do  you  mean?  What 
shall  we  do?" 

"  What  I  ask,  if  you  please.  Linen,  salt,  mustard,  and 
pepper.  Chloe,  you  must  heat  some  water  in  the  kettle 
there."  And  Carroll  turned  about  again  as  Madam  Trevor, 
without  another  word,  hurried  out  of  the  cabin  on  her  er- 
rand. 

The  girl,  meantime,  bent  over  Sambo,  questioning  him. 

"What  was  it,  Sambo?  Have  you  eaten  anything? 
What  have  you  done?"  she  asked,  caressingly. 

Sambo,  panting  from  weakness,  answered,  just  audibly : 
"  Done  eat  nuf  'n  't  all  but  mushrooms  you  picked  's  mo'n 
wiv  Mas'  Frenchman.  You  say  dey  good  fo'  dinneV 

"My  God!" 

"What  is  it?"  asked  the  doctor,  quickly,  seeing  her  face 
grow  gray. 

"He  has  eaten  the  muscaria,"  she  whispered,  tremu- 
lously. 

"I  know  it." 

"  And  it  was  my  fault  —  my  fault !  Good  Heavens  ! 
What  shall  I  do?" 

With  a  quick  sob  she  caught  the  child,  who  suddenly 
sprang  to  her  in  a  new  spasm  of  pain.  The  muscles  of  his 
body  grew  rigid  with  contraction  beneath  her  grasp.  Sambo 
clutched  and  opened  his  hands  wildly  in  the  air.  New 
sweat  poured  out  upon  his  cold  flesh,  his  eyes  started  from 

12 


178         The  House   of  de  Mailly 

their  sockets,  and  Chloe,  catching  sight  of  him,  screamed 
with  despair.  At  this  moment  Madam  Trevor,  bearing  those 
things  which  the  doctor  had  commanded,  re-entered  the 
cabin.  While  Carroll  worked  over  Sambo's  body,  Debo- 
rah suddenly  left  her  place,  turned  blindly  about  and 
ran  out  of  the  cabin  through  the  terror-stricken  group 
at  the  door,  and  across  the  sunny  yard  to  the  still-room. 
Without  an  instant's  hesitation  she  flung  herself  against 
the  closed  door  and  turned  its  handle  with  her  shaking 
fingers.  Presently  she  found  herself  standing  dizzily 
before  the  cage  of  the  poisoned  animal.  Twice  she  opened 
and  shut  her  eyes  to  make  sure  that  her  vision  was  not 
deranged.  No.  There  was  the  cat  making  its  afternoon 
toilet  with  foppish  precision,  stopping  occasionally  to  re- 
gard her  solemnly  with  its  bright  green  eyes. 

Deborah  was  not  long  there.  When  she  was  sure  her 
hope  had  been  realized,  she  turned  to  the  cupboard,  snatched 
a  bottle  from  its  shelf,  and  ran  at  full  speed  out  of  the 
room  and  back  towards  the  cabin.  Upon  the  bed  Sambo's 
body  lay  now  outstretched,  quiet  save  for  an  occasional 
little  quiver  of  the  muscles,  and  over  it  Madam  Trevor,  with 
grave  tenderness,  and  Dr.  Carroll,  with  hopeless  skill, 
worked.  Some  hot  gin  had  been  forced  down  the  child's 
throat,  and  across  him  were  spread  linen  cloths  soaked 
in  water  so  near  to  boiling  that  they  had  scalded  Chloe's 
hands;  yet  Sambo  paid  no  attention  either  to  them  or  to 
the  mixture  with  which  they  were  rubbing  his  limbs. 
When  Deborah  returned,  Carroll  left  off  chafing  the  little 
black  arms  and  went  to  her  where  she  stood  by  the  door. 

"What  to  do,  Debby?"  he  whispered,  helplessly. 

"There's  no  hope?"  she  asked. 

Carroll  shook  his  head.  "  He  is  passing  into  the  coma 
now.  That  is  the  end." 

"You  will  let  me  try  something?"  she  asked,  quickly. 

"  Anything  in  the  world.     Nothing  can  harm  him  now." 

"Where  is  a  cup?" 

"What  have  you?"  he  cried. 

Madam  Trevor  started  and  looked  around.    Deborah  put 


Sambo  179 

a  tremulous  finger  to  her  lips,  and  shook  her  head.  The 
doctor  instantly  understood,  and  let  her  go  to  the  shelf  in 
a  corner,  where,  her  back  being  to  the  others,  she  poured 
half  the  contents  of  her  bottle  into  a  tin  cup.  With  this, 
slowly  and  resolutely,  she  approached  the  bed.  Chloe 
stepped  suddenly  in  her  way: 

"What  yo'  got?"  she  asked,  in  no  friendly  tone. 

"Medicine  for  Sambo,"  was  the  steady  reply. 

"  Of  your  own  making,  Deborah?"  came  Madam  Trevor's 
sharp  voice. 

"Yes,  yes.  You  are  wasting  precious  time.  Chloe 
— let  me  pass." 

"No,  Miss  Deb'.  You  am'  goin'  give  Sambo  nuf'n 
from  still-house." 

"Dr.  Carroll!"  There  was  a  desperate  appeal  in  her 
tone,  and  the  man  came  instantly  to  her  aid. 

"Listen,  Chloe!  Unless  your  child  in  some  way  gets 
the  help  that  I  cannot  give,  he  must  die.  He  is  poisoned, 
as  I  supposed,  fatally.  Miss  Deborah  believes  that  she 
can  save  his  life.  You  cannot  let  him  die  without  the 
attempt." 

The  colored  woman  paid  no  attention  to  the  words,  and 
still  menacingly  barred  the  way.  A  new  idea  was  taking 
possession  of  her:  that  Deborah  had  poisoned  the  boy. 
Carroll,  who  was  watching  her  narrowly,  saw  the  sud- 
den squaring  of  her  shoulders,  darted  quickly  in  front 
of  her  and  seized  her  about  the  body  just  as  she  had  been 
about  to  fling  herself  upon  the  girl.  Deborah,  keyed  to 
the  highest  pitch,  watched  her  opportunity,  slipped  like  a 
cat  around  to  the  bedside,  raised  Sambo's  head  upon  her 
arm,  and,  to  Madam  Trevor's  terror,  pressed  her  fingers  on 
the  child's  throat,  and  forced  him  to  swallow  the  contents 
of  the  cup.  At  once  he  was  seized  with  a  violent  coughing 
fit.  Deborah  lifted  him  upright  at  once,  pressed  her  hands 
upon  his  temples  and  the  back  of  his  neck,  and  kept  him 
from  that  retching  which  would  have  been  fatal  to  her 
experiment. 

Meantime   Carroll   had   forced   Chloe,    screaming   and 


i8o        The  House   of  de   Mailly 

struggling,  from  the  cabin,  and,  after  calling  Thompson 
to  keep  order  in  the  group  outside,  he  closed  and  barred 
the  door.  Madam  Trevor  then  rose  from  her  place. 

"  Charles  Carroll,  you  are  permitting  my  ward  to  murder 
this  child.  I  cannot  remain  here  as  witness  to  such  a 
deed.  When  you  will  accept  the  assistance  that  I  have  to 
give,  and  will  order  this  girl  away,  you  may  send  word  to 
the  house." 

And,  with  these  words,  Antoinette  Trevor  rose  in  strong 
anger,  shook  out  her  flounces,  unfastened  the  door  for 
herself,  and,  without  more  ado,  left  the  cabin  and  the 
dying  child  alone  to  the  care  of  the  doctor  and  his  mad 
protegee. 

Carroll  witnessed  the  departure  without  a  word,  and  it 
was  with  an  expression  rather  of  relief  than  chagrin  that 
he  turned  to  Deborah. 

"What  did  you  give  him?"  he  asked,  quietly. 

"  Atropine.     Four  times  more  than  enough  to  kill  him. "  * 

"  The  cat— " 

"Lives." 

"Good  God,  Deborah!    We  must  save  him  now!" 

Deborah  set  her  teeth.  "We — 1  will  save  him,"  she 
said,  with  slow  precision.  "Or  else — they  will  bury  me 
with  him." 

Madam  Trevor,  upon  her  return  to  the  house,  said  not 
a  word  of  the  scene  in  the  cabin.  It  was  a  relief  to  her  to 
find  that  de  Mailly  had  tactfully  departed  and  that  the 
family  was  alone.  Lucy  and  Virginia  beset  her  with 
questions,  for  the  child  was  a  pet  with  them  all.  It  was 
something  of  a  shock,  then,  when  their  mother  turned 
upon  them,  saying  sharply:  "Sambo  will  die,"  and  forth- 
with retired  to  her  own  room.  The  girls  looked  at  each 
other  for  a  long  moment  in  amazement,  and  then  Lucy 
cried  quickly: 

*  Atropine  is  to-day  considered  the  best  antidote  for  cases  of  poison- 
ing by  the  amanita  muscaria  or  the  amanita  phalloides.  At  the  period 
of  the  story  (1744)  its  efficacy  was  unknown. 


Sambo  181 

"Let  us  go  to  see  him  at  once." 

Virginia  would  have  assented,  but  her  brother  shook 
his  head. 

"Deborah  and  the  doctor  both  are  there.  If  you  are 
needed,  you  will  be  sent  for.  Otherwise  I  forbid  you  to 

go." 

And  so  the  Trevor  family  lived  dismally  through  the 
afternoon,  waiting  for  the  supper-hour,  when  the  watchers 
would  appear.  But  Adam  blew  the  horn  in  vain.  No 
word  came  from  the  cabin,  and  Madam  Trevor,  burning 
with  curiosity  and  anxiety,  flatly  refused  to  send  any  one 
to  ask  news  of  the  child. 

The  sun  set,  and  dusk  deepened  to  evening.  Candles 
were  lighted  in  the  sitting-room,  but  Vincent  alone  made 
any  pretence  of  reading.  The  three  women  moved  about 
restlessly,  the  girls  not  daring,  and  their  mother  unwilling 
to  speak  on  the  subject  which  occupied  all  their  thoughts. 
The  silence  had  become  unbearable,  and  Vincent  at  last 
started  to  put  away  his  book,  with  a  resolve  to  go  to  the 
quarters,  when  the  door  flew  open  and  Dr.  Carroll  strode 
into  the  room,  carrying  Deborah's  body  in  his  arms.  He 
laid  her  down  upon  the  brocaded  sofa,  while  the  girls 
rushed  to  her  side. 

"She  fainted  as  we  came  across  the  yard,"  explained 
the  doctor,  wearily. 

"The  child  is  dead,  then?" 

"Sambo  will  live.  The  girl  saved  his  life.  She  is  a 
genius,  madam;  and — for  God's  sake,  get  me  a  glass  of 
wineT' 


CHAPTER  VI 

Claude's    Memories 

EBORAH  recovered  from  her  afternoon  over 
Sambo's  sick-bed  far  less  rapidly  than  the 
small  negro  did  from  the  effects  of  his  re- 
markable breakfast.  In  fact,  three  days 
after  that  upon  which  he  had  substituted 
the  fly  agaric  for  hoe-cake,  he  was  running  about  the  plan- 
tation as  usual,  only  with  a  new  and  useful  working  knowl- 
edge concerning  vermilion  -  colored  fungi.  With  beau- 
tiful impartiality  he  sought  the  still-room  on  the  afternoon 
of  the  first  day  that  he  left  the  cabin.  He  found  its  door 
locked,  and  presently  discovered  that  Miss  Deb  was  to 
be  seen  nowhere  about  the  grounds.  On  making  peremp- 
tory inquiries,  he  was  informed,  much  to  his  disgust,  that 
his  play-fellow  was  ill  in  bed,  without  amanita  for  cause, 
and  that  he  might  not  dream  of  such  a  thing  as  seeing  her. 
Thereupon,  retiring  to  the  still -house  door-step,  young 
Sambo  lifted  up  his  voice  and  wept,  though  he  got  no 
consolation  from  the  process. 

Strictly  speaking,  Deborah  was  not  in  bed.  She  was 
too  restless  to  remain  long  in  any  one  place,  but  she  felt 
no  desire  to  leave  the  house.  What  care  she  needed,  and 
a  little  more,  was  lavished  on  her  by  Madam  Trevor,  her 
cousins,  and  the  slaves.  Nevertheless,  she  was  very 
wretched.  She  could  not  understand  her  continual  weari- 
ness and  her  impatience  with  the  familiar  scenes  of  every- 
day life.  She  suffered  inexpressibly  with  the  mid-day  heat, 
and  shivered  with  cold  through  the  mild  nights.  "  Nerves  " 
were  to  her  unnecessary  and  incomprehensible  things, 
and  her  disgust  with  herself  was  none  the  less  exasperat- 


Claude's    Memories  183 

ing  because  it  was  unreasonable.  Dr.  Carroll,  however, 
was  wiser  than  she.  A  week  after  Sambo's  affair  he 
heard  of  her  condition  and  went  out  to  her  at  once.  His 
prescription  pleased  the  whole  family,  with  the  excep- 
tion, perhaps,  of  Sir  Charles.  He  proposed  taking  her 
back  with  him  to  Annapolis,  to  spend  ten  days  under  his 
own  hospitable  roof,  with  his  two  sisters  to  take  care  of 
her,  and  young  Charles  for  company.  Permission  for 
the  visit  was  granted  on  the  asking,  and,  upon  the  next 
afternoon,  Deborah  set  out  in  the  family  coach,  with  the 
doctor  on  horseback  as  outrider.  The  only  regret  that 
she  felt  on  leaving  was,  oddly  enough,  the  parting  from 
Sir  Charles.  His  attentions  to  her  during  the  past  week 
had  been  remarkably  delicate.  Madam  Trevor  herself 
could  hardly  have  objected  to  them.  Through  long  hours 
he  had  sat  near  her  while  she  lay  upon  a  sofa,  generally 
with  Lucy  or  Virginia,  or  both,  beside  her,  recounting 
little  stories  of  his  own  or  his  comrades'  adventures; 
describing  London  and  London  life;  stopping  when  he 
saw  that  his  voice  tired  her;  fanning  her,  perhaps,  in 
silence;  arranging  the  tray  that  held  her  meals  on  the 
stand  beside  her ;  and  only  once  in  a  long,  long  time  look- 
ing into  her  wandering  eyes  with  an  expression  that  would 
set  her  to  thinking  of  grave  and  far-off  things.  Thus 
she  left  the  plantation,  feeling  a  new  and  not  unpleasant 
regret  at  losing  the  companionship  which  nad  almost  made 
her  illness  worth  the  having. 

Dr.  Carroll's  sisters,  Mistress  Lettice  and  little  Frances 
Appleby,  awaited  their  guest  with  solicitation.  The 
coach  that  held  her  arrived  at  their  door  just  at  tea-time, 
and  Deborah  was  smiling  with  pleasure  when  the  doctor 
lifted  her  out  and  carried  her  bodily  up  the  walk  and  into 
the  house,  with  St.  Quentin  on  one  side,  his  son  on  the  other, 
and  the  little  old  maids  smiling  together  in  the  doorway. 
The  young  lady  then  refused  absolutely  to  retire,  but  sat  up 
to  tea,  partook  of  some  of  Miriam  Vawse's  raspberry  con- 
serve, and  afterwards  lay  upon  the  sofa  in  the  parlor  with 
an  unexpressed  hope  in  her  heart  that  Claude  might  come. 


184        The   House   of  de  Mailly 

Claude  was  to  have  come.  Mistress  Lettice,  when  she 
learned  from  her  brother  that  their  guest  would  arrive 
that  afternoon,  had  sent  down  a  polite  request  by  young 
Charles  that  monsieur  would  honor  them  with  his  presence 
in  the  evening.  As  politely  de  Mailly  returned  thanks 
for  the  invitation,  gave  no  definite  reply,  but  intended  to 
go.  Upon  that  afternoon,  however,  the  Sea-Gull  ar- 
rived, after  a  fair  voyage,  from  Portsmouth;  and  in  her 
came  a  long  letter  and  a  consignment  of  rents  from  Mailly- 
Nesle  to  his  cousin.  Many  things  were  happening  in 
France.  In  March,  war  with  England  and  Maria  Theresa 
had  been  declared,  and  the  French  armies  prepared  for 
a  campaign.  In  May  came  the  astounding  intelligence 
that,  through  the  influence  of  la  Chateauroux,  who  loved 
the  heroic,  Louis  would  command  his  forces  in  person. 
A  week  later  it  was  understood  that  the  favorite  was  to 
follow  in  the  royal  train,  together  with  the  King's  staff, 
his  aides,  his  chefs,  his  valet,  and  the  impedimenta.  The 
letter  was  dated  May  28th.  As  he  read  it,  Claude's  heart 
burned;  and  with  the  evening,  in  the  bitterness  of  his 
memories  of  the  old  life,  and  in  the  wretched  conjectures 
that  he  made  as  to  what  was  the  French  news  now,  he 
forgot  Deborah.  Where  was  she,  Marie  Anne,  his  cousin? 
What  battles  had  been  fought  over  the  water?  Was  the 
fifteenth  Louis  still  reigning  over  France?  Had  not  some 
chance  shot  struck  him,  and  with  him  the  third  daughter 
of  the  de  Maillys,  down  in  all  their  clanging  glory?  Did 
la  Chateauroux  never  now  think  of  the  cousin  exiled  for 
her,  at  her  instance?  Henri  did  not  say.  And  Miriam 
Vawse  of  the  Annapolis  inn  wondered  that  night  what 
news  her  lodger  had  received,  that  he  should  sit,  stoop- 
shouldered,  over  the  empty  fireplace,  and  forget  that, 
only  two  blocks  away,  in  Dr.  Carroll's  house,  Debby  Travis 
was  vainly  waiting  for  him  to  come  to  her. 

Claude  did  remember  her  next  morning,  when  the  sun- 
light gave  matters  a  different  aspect,  and  the  letter  had 
been  shut  away  in  his  trunk.  So  it  was  with  only  half 
his  mind  on  French  battle-fields  and  a  vaguely  dreamed- 


Claude's   Memories  185 

of  Dettingen,  that  he  ate  his  colonial  breakfast ;  and  after- 
wards, as  he  left  the  ordinary  and  bent  his  steps  leisurely 
northward  towards  Dr.  Carroll's  house,  his  homesickness 
fled  quite  away. 

The  Carrolls'  breakfast  had  ended  some  time  ago 
(Claude's  Versailles  habits  of  late  rising  were  not  yet 
broken) ;  and  Deborah,  already  bettered  by  the  change 
of  scene  and  atmosphere,  had  come  down  to  the  morning 
meal.  She  was  now  in  the  doctor's  study,  leaning  back 
in  his  great  chair,  while  young  Charles  stood  moodily 
facing  the  window,  sulky  because  she  was  not  yet  well 
enough  to  bear  a  morning  on  the  bay,  so  obtaining  for 
him  a  vacation  on  plea  of  hospitality. 

"  Now  I  know  why  you  won't  mind  about  me  any  more. 
Here's  your  de  Mailly  coming  up  the  walk.  Faith,  I'll 
not  bear  it!  You've  grown  into  a  fine  lady,  Debby,  and 
are  no  fun  nowadays.  I'd  as  soon  have  Lucy  running 
with  me." 

"And  you,  Charles,  are  ungentlemanly.  If  you  were 
anything  but  a  child,  I  wouldn't  speak  to  you  this  sen- 
night." 

"I'm  as  old  as  you,  lacking  a  month." 

"Little  one  would  think  it,  then." 

"  Pardon,  if  I  intrude.  I  come  to  inquire  after  Mistress 
Travis'  health." 

Claude  stood  smiling  upon  the  threshold,  for  he  had 
overheard  the  last  words  of  the  quarrel.  Deborah,  her 
white  face  flushing  a  little,  held  out  her  hand.  As  he 
bent  over  it  she  said,  in  a  much  gentler  tone  than  that 
which  she  had  been  using:  "I  am  really  well,  only  I 
have  nerves.  Charles,  however,  is  using  me  very  ill.  He 
says  that  nerves  are  nonsense.  Do  you  think  so?" 

"In  my  country,  mademoiselle,  they  are  considered 
serious.  A  lady  who  has  them  retires  to  her  bed  and 
expects  all  her  friends  to  come  and  amuse  her  till  she  is 
better.  Charles,  you  are  heartless." 

Deborah  looked  a  little  shocked  at  his  first  statement 
and  his  matter-of-fact  tone  when  making  it;  but  she  said 


186        The  House   of  de  Mailly 

nothing.  Presently  Father  St.  Quentin  appeared  at  the 
door.  After  stopping  to  extend  a  hearty  greeting  to  de 
Mailly,  he  flung  a  Latin  imperative  at  poor  Charles, 
who  obeyed  it  with  the  poorest  possible  grace,  leaving 
the  room  alone  to  Deborah  and  the  Count.  Claude  seated 
himself  near  her,  and  looked  at  her  for  a  few  seconds  in 
silence,  noting  a  difference  in  her  general  expression. 
She  was  too  languid  to  be  embarrassed  by  the  pause,  but, 
not  caring  to  return  the  scrutiny,  slightly  turned  her  head 
and  looked  toward  the  windows. 

"  I  owe  Miss  Travis  an  apology,  do  I  not?" 

She  glanced  towards  him  now  in  some  surprise.  "  An 
apology?  For  what?" 

"  Nay,  then  I  will  not  make  it.  I  will  only  tell  you  that, 
as  the  preserver  of  a  child's  life,  I  must  reverence  your  tal- 
ent, on  which,  I  confess,  I  had  looked  with  ill-timed  dis- 
approval." 

Deborah  gazed  at  him  thoughtfully.  "  I  recollect  now. 
You  were  displeased  to  think  that  I  would  poison  a  cat.  I 
assure  you  it  was  the  cat  saved  Sambo's  life.  Neither  of 
them  died." 

"  So  Dr.  Carroll  told  me.  I  have  heard  all  that  you  did 
on  that  afternoon ;  and  I,  like  the  doctor,  have  not  words 
to  express  my  admiration." 

"  You  are  very  kind.  Please — do  not  let  us  talk  of  that. 
I  came  here  to  forget.  Come — would  you  entertain  me, 
monsieur?" 

"In  whatever  way  lies  in  my  power." 

"Why,  then,  it  is  done.  It  would  give  me  infinite  en- 
tertainment, monsieur,  to  hear  the  life  of  the  ladies  of  the 
French  Court,  where  you  lived.  The  doctor  has  told  me 
what  a  great  Court  it  is.  How  do  the  ladies  dress,  what  do 
they  eat,  do  they  go  every  night  to  the  assembly?  Faith, 
that  would  be  tiresome  enough,  I  think!" 

De  Mailly  laughed  a  little  at  her  comment,  but  did  not 
immediately  comply  with  the  request.  Memory  had 
once  more  come  home  to  him  again,  but  this  time  with  a 
curious  addition.  Of  a  sudden  he  found  that  he  could 


Claude's   Memories  187 

definitely  imagine  Deborah  Travis  as  having  a  place  in 
that  French  Court  that  she  spoke  of.  It  was  a  curious 
notion,  and  he  regarded  her  for  some  time  contemplatively, 
before  he  began  to  speak. 

"  If  you  were  in  Versailles,  Mademoiselle  Deborah,  you 
would  doubtless  be  madame." 

"What!     Are  there  no  unmarried  ladies  there?" 

"  Yes — a  few.  Those  who  cannot  find  a  husband.  But 
we  are  supposing  that  you  would  not  be  there  unless  some 
grand  seigneur  had  married  you  and  carried  you  away." 

Deborah  laughed  merrily,  and  Claude,  with  some  sat- 
isfaction, perceived  that  she  had  entered  into  his  own  spir- 
it. "Continue!  continue!"  she  cried.  "I  am  already  per- 
ishing with  interest." 

"  You  would  dwell  in  an  apartment  in — we  will  say  the 
Rue  des  Rossignols — that  is  the  name  of  a  street.  Let  us 
see.  You  sleep  in  a  charming  room  hung  in  white  brocade. 
Your  dressing-room  will  be  in  pink  satin,  with  the  chairs 
in  tapestry  which  monsieur  would  have  embroidered  for 
you-" 

"Monsieur — a  man — embroider!" 

"  Oh  yes.  The  King  himself  commanded  de  Ge"vres  to 
teach  him  stitches  a  year  ago.  He  began  four  sieges  at 
once,  I  remember,  and  de  Mouhy  made  an  excellent  bon- 
mot  about  it.  No  matter.  Your  tapestries  in  apple-green, 
your  tables  in  mahogany,  and  your  sets  in  ivory — or  gold? 
Which?" 

"Ivory,  I  think.  Pink  satin  and  ivory  would  be — oh, 
most  beautiful!"  she  replied,  cocking  her  head  a  little  on 
one  side. 

He  nodded,  appreciative  of  her  taste.  "  The  salon — blue 
and  gold ;  the  dining-room  in  green ;  and,  for  monsieur's 
room,  we  will  let  it  go.  At  nine  in  the  morning  you  have 
your  chocolate  in  bed.  Half  an  hour  later  you  rise,  and 
your  toilette  a  la  mode  begins." 

"  Oh,  what  is  a  toilette  a  la  mode  ?" 

The  Count  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  You,  in  a  delight- 
ful neglige,  receive  in  the  pink  satin  boudoir,  while  your 


i88         The   House   of  de  Mailly 

hair  is  powdered.  Yours  would  never  need  to  be  curled, 
mademoiselle.  Eh  bien!  During  the  toilette  you  would 
have  cakes  and  cordial,  or  more  chocolate.  At  one  o'clock 
you  meet  monsieur  the  husband,  and  dine  with  him  either 
alone  or  at  the  palace.  For  the  afternoon  there  are  a  thou- 
sand things.  You  attend  a  lev£e,  the  hunt,  a  salon,  a 
tea  a  I'anglaise;  you  drive,  promenade  in  the  Orangerie  or  a 
Paris  boulevard ;  you  visit  shops ;  you  attend  a  sale ;  you 
receive  at  home ;  or,  perhaps,  if  the  night  is  to  be  fatiguing, 
you  sleep.  You  never  spin,  you  do  not  knit,  nor  do  you — 
distil  poisons  and  save  lives,  Mistress  Deborah.  At  seven 
you  sup — hardly  this  time  with  monsieur,  who  has  his  own 
engagements.  Later  you  attend  the  Ope'ra  or  the  Italiens, 
indulge  in  a  little  supper  with  a  party  later,  and  return  to 
Versailles  shortly  after  midnight.  If  you  are  in  his  Maj- 
esty's immediate  circle  you  go  to  Choisy,  perhaps.  But 
— that,  mademoiselle — I  trust — you  will  never  do.  Now 
do  you  think  the  life  pleasant?" 

"I'm  sure  I  cannot  tell,"  was  the  demure  response;  but 
the  girl's  face  belied  her  words.  It  was  aglow  with  pleas- 
ure. "  And  what  is  it  that  you  would  do,  monsieur?  How 
— how  could  you  have  borne  it  to  leave  such  a  life?  Did 
you  really  tire  of  it?  Was — " 

He  rose  sharply  to  his  feet,  and  she  broke  off  at  once, 
astonished  and  half  frightened  at  the  change  in  his  face. 
"There  are  many  thorns  among  the  roses,  mademoiselle. 
Life  is  not  happier  there  than  here.  And  some  day — some 
day,  perhaps — I  will  tell  you  the  other  side  of  it ;  why"- 
he  almost  whispered  now,  for  his  throat  was  dry — "  why  I 
left  it  all." 

" Oh,  forgive  me!     I  had  not  meant  to  pain  you." 

He  looked  down  into  the  face  that  had  lost  all  its  glow  of 
pleasure,  took  her  slight  hand,  kissed  it  quietly,  and  left 
her  alone  to  think  over  all  that  had  been  said,  to  wonder 
over  the  uncertain  promise  of  more,  and  to  hope  that  he 
would  neither  forget  nor  repent. 

The  little  conversation  had  taken  her  mind  away  from 
herself  and  set  it  in  a  new  and  far-off  channel.  When  Dr. 


Claude's   Memories 


Carroll  came  back  from  his  walk  to  the  wharves,  he  found 
his  little  guest  with  color  in  her  face  and  animation 
in  her  air.  She  told  him  of  de  Mailly's  visit,  and  Car- 
roll, judging  its  effect,  resolved  that  the  tonic  should  be 
administered  often  while  his  patient  remained  with  him. 
The  result  was  that,  in  the  following  days,  Claude  de  Mailly 
and  Deborah  were  thrown  constantly  together.  And  dur- 
ing their  lively  conversations,  or,  perhaps,  even  more  so 
in  their  desultory  ones,  there  grew  up  between  them  an 
intimacy  more  of  good-fellowship  than  anything  else, 
the  spirit  of  which  deceived  both  Claude  and  the  doctor, 
though  how  much  prophecy  Deborah  might  have  made 
concerning  it,  would  be  more  difficult  to  say. 

One  afternoon,  a  Friday,  and  two  days  before  Deborah 
was  to  return  to  the  plantation,  while  the  doctor  was  at  his 
counting-house  near  the  wharves,  and  the  two  little  sisters 
sat  together  spinning  in  the  sitting-room,  their  guest, 
panting  with  the  heat  inside  the  house,  and  wishing  also  to 
escape  young  Charles,  who  would  presently  be  relieved  from 
his  Horace,  sought  out  her  largest  hat  and  crept  out  of 
doors,  passing  down  the  street  in  the  direction  of  the  Vawse 
inn.  She  had  not  seen  de  Mailly  for  nearly  twenty-four 
hours,  and,  as  a  consequence,  her  day  was  empty. 
She  had  small  hopes  of  encountering  him  now,  but  was 
too  restless  to  remain  any  longer  in  the  room  with  the  two 
old  maids  and  their  whirring  wheels.  She  passed  the 
quaintly  gabled  tavern,  whose  door,  contrary  to  custom, 
was  closed.  Evidently  Miriam  was  out.  There  was  no 
sign  of  life  about  the  windows.  Claude  himself  was  prob- 
ably not  there.  Deborah  walked  on,  disappointedly,  as 
far  as  the  court-house,  and,  still  not  wishing  to  admit 
to  herself  that  she  had  come  out  simply  with  the  hope  of 
encountering  de  Mailly,  turned  down  Green  Street  and  fol- 
lowed it  to  the  water's  edge.  The  Stewart  quay  was  de- 
serted, and  she  halted  there  to  look  over  the  smooth,  warm 
stretch  of  water.  It  was  very  still.  The  idle  swash  of  the 
ripples  against  the  pier  was  the  only  sound  that  reached 
her  ears.  The  atmosphere  was  hazy  with  heat.  It  seemed 


190        The   House   of  de  Mailly 

as  though  it  was  the  very  weight  and  thickness  of  the  air 
which  gradually  formed  a  solid  arch  of  purple  storm-clouds 
above  the  river  to  the  west.  Presently  the  sun  was  ob- 
scured. Still  Deborah  stood,  heedlessly  watching  the  bay, 
and  breathing  slowly  in  the  stifling  heat.  Suddenly  some 
one  appeared  beside  her. 

"  Mademoiselle — mademoiselle — you  will  surely  be  wet. " 

Deborah  turned  her  head  towards  him  with  a  smile  of 
pleasure  which  she  would  have  repressed  if  she  could. 
"  Did  you  fall  from  the  clouds,  sir?" 

"  No.  I  have  myself  been  wandering  by  the  water  this 
afternoon ;  and  for  the  past  quarter  of  an  hour  I  have  been 
watching  the  gathering  storm — and  you.  Come,  made- 
moiselle, we  must  seek  shelter — and  quickly." 

"Let  us  try  to  reach  Miriam's.     We  can  run." 

He  took  her  arm  as  she  spoke,  and  they  started  together 
down  Hanover  Street  to  Charles,  which  ran  straight  up 
for  five  blocks  to  Gloucester  Street  and  the  Vawse  tavern. 
As  they  passed  the  Reynolds  ordinary  a  deafening  clap 
of  thunder  broke  over  them.  Deborah  shivered,  and  de 
Mailly  put  an  arm  about  her  to  help  her  faster  on  their 
way.  The  street  was  empty.  The  heat  had  not  yet 
broken,  and  beads  of  perspiration  stood  on  their  faces  as 
they  went.  A  long  hiss  of  lightning  glided  like  a  snake 
through  the  storm-cloud.  The  town  was  almost  dark. 
Deborah  had  begun  to  pant,  and  her  companion  could 
feel  the  beating  of  her  heart  shake  her  whole  frame. 

"C'est  rien,  mademoiselle.  Nous  sommes  presque  la. 
L'orage  sera  vraiment  6norme!"  he  muttered  rapidly. 

A  moment  more  and,  as  a  new  thunder-clap  rattled  down 
the  sky,  a  sudden  cold  breath  struck  the  city.  With  the 
wind,  which  blew  like  a  hurricane  down  the  river,  came  a 
pelting  rain.  The  two  reached  their  destination  barely 
in  time.  Claude  flung  open  the  door  of  the  tavern,  and 
Deborah  was  blown  over  its  threshold  in  a  gush  of  water. 

It  was  with  some  difficulty  that  Claude  shut  and  bolted 
the  door  in  the  face  of  the  wind.  When  he  turned  about 
his  companion  lay  back  on  a  wooden  settle  in  a  state  of 


Claude's   Memories  191 


exhaustion.  While  the  gale  howled  without  and  the 
thunder  crashed  down  the  heavens;  he  lit  a  candle  with 
his  tinder-box,  brought  a  glass  of  strong  waters  for  Deb- 
orah, and  helped  her  gently  to  a  more  comfortable  chair. 
He  took  the  hat  from  her  tumbled  hair,  chafed  her  hands 
till  her  nails  grew  pink  again,  and  then  stood  back  regard- 
ing her  anxiously. 

"  Oh,  I'm  quite  recovered.  It  was  a  long  run.  Where 
— where  is  Miriam?" 

"Mistress  Vawse?  John  Squire's  boy  broke  a  limb 
falling  from  a  roof,  and  she  has  gone  to  attend  the — what 
do  you  say? — setting  of  it." 

"Then  we  are  here  quite  alone?"  asked  the  girl,  ner- 
vously. 

"Surely  Miss  Travis  is  not  afraid  with  me?"  Claude 
looked  at  her  in  hurt  surprise.  "1  will  retire  at  once  to 
my  room.  When  the  rain  ceases — " 

Deborah  laughed  a  little.  "No,  no.  You  misunder- 
stand. I  am  afraid  of  storms.  1  should  be  frightened 
to  death  to  be  left  here  alone  with — that." 

Both  listened  as  the  long,  low  growl  of  thunder  rolled 
down  the  sky  and  died  away.  It  was  growing  darker 
again.  A  new  storm  was  rising. 

Claude,  much  relieved  at  the  sincerity  of  Deborah's 
tone,  drew  a  stool  near  her.  "May  I  sit  here  by  you, 
then?"  he  asked. 

Deborah  nodded  and  leaned  back  in  her  own  chair. 
Then  there  fell  a  little  silence  on  the  room.  The  girl's 
unconscious  eyes  travelled  over  de  Mailly's  face  as  he 
sat  regarding  the  rain-splashed  windows ;  and  they  found 
a  new  expression,  a  new  paleness,  an  unusual  soberness, 
upon  the  clear-cut  features.  Unthinkingly,  Deborah 
spoke : 

"You  are  changed  to-day,  monsieur.  I  have  not  seen 
you  so  before.  Why  are  you  melancholy?" 

He  turned  towards  her  quickly.  "Yes,  I  have  what 
we  call  les  papillons  noirs  to-day.  In  some  way,  Mis- 
tress Deborah,  'tis  your  fault.  In  these  last  days  I  have 


192         The  House   of  de  Mailly 

said  so  much  to  you  of  my  former  life,  jestingly  perhaps, 
and  yet  feeling  it,  that  to-day  it  has  brought  me  home- 
sickness." 

Before  his  frank  look  Deborah's  eyelids  drooped,  and 
presently,  with  a  little  hesitation,  she  said:  "You  once 
told  me  that  some  day  you  would  relate  to  me  why  it  was 
that  you  left  your  home.  Could  you  not — now?" 

"Ah,  no!"  The  exclamation  was  impetuous.  "It  is 
not  a  story  for  you,  mademoiselle.  An  older  woman  might 
hear — but  to  you — " 

"Think  of  me  as  older,"  she  suggested,  so  quietly  that 
his  resolve  was  shaken. 

"It  will  be  hard  to  forgive  me,  1  think,  afterwards,"  he 
deprecated. 

"What  shall  1  have  to  forgive?  'Tis  1  that  ask  the 
tale." 

"It  is  a  story  of  unfortunate  love,"  he  said,  regarding 
her  narrowly. 

Her  head  drooped  farther.     "  Tell  me  all  now,  monsieur. " 

And  so,  out  of  an  impulse  which  he  could  not  have  traced 
to  its  source,  but  which  proceeded  from  a  spirit  of  honesty 
and  true  chivalry,  Claude  recounted,  with  the  utmost 
gentleness  and  delicacy,  some  of  the  incidents  which  had 
led  to  his  exile.  He  said  just  enough  of  his  cousin  to  let 
his  listener  decide  what  his  feeling  for  her  had  been.  And 
Deborah,  oddly  enough,  perhaps,  shrank  from  no  part 
of  the  recital.  She  forgot  herself,  and  saw  through  the 
eyes  of  the  narrator  all  that  he  was  describing.  In  their 
recent,  half-serious  talks  on  French  life,  the  girl  had  gained 
a  remarkably  clear  idea  of  what  that  life  must  be;  and 
now  this  story  affected  her  very  differently  than  it  would 
have  done  had  it  been  her  first  glimpse  of  another  exist- 
ence. It  resembled  one  of  her  vague  dreams,  this  sitting 
alone  in  the  cloud-darkened  room,  the  feeble  candle  min- 
gling its  beams  with  the  gloomy  daylight;  the  shadowy 
figure  of  the  man  before  her,  and  his  low  voice  carrying 
on  its  story,  seeming  to  be  things  very  far  away.  And 
the  fresh  rain  pelted  on  the  windows,  while  the  deep  mono- 


1  GO   ON,  MONSIEUR,'   MURMURED   DEBORAH  " 


Claude's   Memories  193 

tone  of  the  thunder  made  a  fitful  and  fitting  accompani- 
ment to  the  narrative. 

"So,  mademoiselle,  it  was  there  in  the  chapel  that  M. 
de  Maurepas  delivered  me  the  letter  from  the  King.  Henri, 
madame's  brother,  was  with  me.  1  read  the  letter  just 
there.  1  have  forgotten  if  1  spoke  after  it,  or  if  either  of 
them  addressed  me.  Henri,  I  think,  led  me  out  and  away, 
into  the  town,  to  our  apartment.  But  next  morning  it 
was  all  very  clear.  Henri  seemed  to  feel  more  than  I. 
Later  on  that  day  1  went  to  bid  madame  good-bye.  She 
was  very  gracious — yes,  most  gracious." 

"  How  could  you  go  to  see  her?  1  should  not  have  done 
so." 

"  Ah,  mademoiselle,  1  had  to  see  her.  1  wished  to  take 
her  with  me  as  my  wife.  She  did  not  come.  Non. 
She  gave  me,  instead,  to  bring  away  for  memory  of  her 
— this."  Claude  put  his  hand  inside  his  vest  and  brought 
out  two  things,  the  long  white  gauntlet,  and  a  letter  with 
the  royal  seal.  As  he  handed  the  gage  to  Deborah,  the 
paper  dropped  to  the  floor. 

While  the  girl  looked  at  the  glove  for  the  second  time, 
de  Mailly  picked  up  his  letter  of  exile,  and  sat  smoothing 
it  on  his  knee.  Then  he  asked,  unthinkingly:  "This 
letter  from  the  King — will  you  read  it?" 

She  held  out  her  hand  and  took  the  small,  worn  paper 
with  its  red-brown  seal  and  the  arms  of  France  upon  it. 
Regarding  the  fine,  crabbed  writing,  she  said,  with  a  faint 
smile:  "1  do  not  easily  read  French,  monsieur." 

"  Shall  I  read  it  to  you,  then,  as  well  as  I  can — in  Eng- 
lish?" 

She  nodded  once  more,  and  he,  taking  the  missive  from 
her  hand,  cleared  his  throat  and  began,  with  a  little  effort : 

"Owing  to  certain  circumstances  which  of  late  have 
had  the  misfortune  greatly  to  displease  S.  M.,  the  King 
desires  to  inform  Count  Claude  Vincent  Armand  Victor 
de  Nesle  de  Mailly  that  the  absence  of  the  Count  from  the 
chateau  and  city  of  Versailles  after  the  noon  of  Friday, 
January  22d,  in  this  year  of  1744,  will  be  desirable  to  S.  M.  ; 
'3 


194        The  House   of  de  Mailly 

and  that  after  the  first  day  of  the  month  of  February,  Mon- 
sieur the  Count,  if  he  has  not  already  crossed  the  line  of  the 
French  Kingdom,  would  of  necessity  be  placed  under  the 
escort  of  one  of  his  Majesty's  officers.  The  King  wishes 
monsieur  a  delightful  journey,  and — ' ' 

Claude's  eyes,  running  on  before  his  tongue,  suddenly 
realized  the  subject  of  the  next  few  lines,  and  he  suddenly 
stopped. 

"Go  on,  monsieur,"  murmured  Deborah,  after  an  in- 
stant. 

"  Mademoiselle,  1 — cannot.     There  is  nothing  more. " 

"Go  on,  monsieur,"  she  repeated,  quietly. 

Claude  passed  his  hand  over  his  brow.  Then  he  lifted 
the  letter  again  and  continued :  "  ' — and  begs  further  to 
add  that  when  monsieur  shall  desire  to  present  Madame 
la  Comtesse  his  wife  to  their  Majesties  at  Versailles,  his 
return  to  his  present  abode  will  be  most  pleasing  to 

'"LOUIS  R." 

At  the  close  of  the  last  line  Claude  looked  up,  appre- 
hensively. Deborah  was  very  white,  and  there  was  an 
unusual  brightness  in  her  eyes.  He  could  not  catch  her 
glance.  Her  head  drooped,  and  presently  she  covered  her 
face  with  her  hands.  He  sprang  up,  impetuously. 

"Deborah — Deborah — forget  that  last!  I — didn't  mean 
to  read  it." 

He  spoke  rather  incoherently.  Perhaps  the  girl  did  not 
even  understand  him.  At  any  rate,  after  a  moment,  she 
lifted  her  head  with  a  dignity  that  Claude  did  not  know. 
"  I  thank  you,  M.  de  Mailly,  for  telling  me  the  story  as  I 
asked."  There  was  a  little,  wretched  pause,  and  then  she 
added,  more  faintly:  "See,  the  storm  is  nearly  over.  I 
must  go  back  now — to  the  doctor's  house." 


CHAPTER   VII 

The    Pearls 

NOTHER  week  went  by,  and  Deborah,  quite 
recovered  from  her  slight  illness,  bade  Dr. 
Carroll  and  his  sisters  good-bye  and  returned, 
on  a  Sunday  afternoon,  to  the  Trevor  place. 
It  was  then  about  the  1st  of  August,  and 
certain  rumors  relative  to  the  reception  of  the  returning 
commissioners  from  Lancaster,  rumors  dearly  exciting  to 
the  feminine  heart,  began  to  radiate  from  the  gubernatorial 
palace  and  to  spread  throughout  the  country-side.     For 
once  in  its  long  existence  rumor  spoke  truth.     Upon  the 
6th  day  of  August  were  issued  elaborate  cards  ("tickets," 
they  called  them  then)  of  invitation  for  a  Governor's  ball  to 
be  given  upon  the  evening  of  the  2ist  to  the  returning 
officials.     With  the  delivery  of  these  cards  a  thrill  of  ex- 
citement and  anticipation  pulsated  through  all  Anne  Arun- 
del  County,  even  running  a  little  way  over  its  irregular  bor- 
ders; and   innumerable   were   the   earnest   conversations 
through  town  and  country  houses  as  to  costumes  suitable 
for  such  an  occasion.     Great  hopes,  that  sank  often  to  de- 
spair, were  entertained  of  the  arrival  of  the  Baltimore,  with 
her  usual  cargo  of  vain  and  delightful  things.     It  was 
calculated  with  the  nicest  discrimination  that  she  might 
reach  port,  provided  the  winds  were  amiable  to  an  impossi- 
ble degree,  as  early  as  the  I5th.     Then  the  weather  of 
the  West  Atlantic  was  watched  with  supreme  interest.     It 
certainly  was  all  that  could  be  desired.     Nevertheless,  the 
1 5th  came  and  went  without  the  Baltimore,  and  there 
was  wailing  on  both  sides  of  the  Severn.     In  time  the 
interest  in  the  ship's  arrival  came  to  surpass  its  object; 


196        The  House   of  de  Mailly 

though,  indeed,  Betty  Pritchard  voiced  many  another's 
feeling  when  she  one  day  cried  out,  wofully : 

"If  the  Baltimore  doesn't  come  in,  I'll  have  no  pink 
taffeta  for  a  petticoat  to  my  satin  overdress.  If  I  don't 
have  the  petticoat,  I  won't  go  to  the  ball;  and  if  I  don't 
go  to  the  ball,  I  shall  die!" 

One  of  the  most  anxious  watchers  for  the  arrival  of  the 
ship  was,  oddly  enough,  Madam  Trevor.  Her  anxiety  con- 
cerning it  quite  passed  the  comprehension  of  her  daugh- 
ters, who  had  not  a  suspicion  of  what  was  in  their  mother's 
mind.  Vincent  knew  more,  but  had  never  seen  fit  to  talk 
to  his  sister  on  the  subject  of  the  pearls  which  were  to  form 
Virginia  Trevor's  ornaments  on  the  day  that  she  married 
Sir  Charles.  It  was  tacitly  understood  between  young 
Trevor  and  his  mother  that  he  should  speak  to  his  cousin 
on  the  arrival  of  the  jewels,  and  it  was  madam's  ambition 
to  be  able  to  spread  the  news  of  Virginia's  engagement  at 
the  much-talked-of  ball. 

The  Baltimore  was  a  considerate  ship,  and  her  captain 
the  favorite  of  all  sea-going  men  in  Annapolis.  Neither 
lost  a  reputation  this  time,  for,  on  the  20th  of  August, 
at  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning,  the  Baltimore  cast  anchor 
in  the  lower  piers,  and  Annapolis  womanhood  sighed  with 
relief.  It  was  but  seven  o'clock  on  the  evening  of  the 
same  day,  and  the  Trevor  family  sat  at  supper  in  the  glass 
room,  watching  the  twilight  deepen  over  the  scented  gar- 
den, when  Pompey  hastily  entered  to  announce  the  un- 
expected arrival  of  young  Charles  Carroll. 

"An'  he  say  Baltimo'e  's  heah,  Mis'  Trev',"  he  added, 
eagerly,  glad  to  be  the  first  with  the  news. 

Madam  Trevor  rose  with  a  light  in  her  face  as  the  doctor's 
son  came  merrily  in.  Having  saluted  each  member  of  the 
party,  he  advanced  to  the  mistress  of  the  house,  paused 
for  an  instant  to  take  on  an  air  of  heavy  responsibility,  and 
finally  produced,  from  the  pockets  of  his  new  cloth  coat, 
two  packages,  wrapped  in  paper  and  tied  with  cord,  the  one 
square  and  flat,  the  other  five  inches  thick  and  also  square. 

"From  Captain  Croft,"  he  observed,  handing  them  to 


The    Pearls  197 

Madam  Trevor,  while  all  at  the  table  looked  on  with  interest. 
In  a  moment  the  strings  were  cut,  and  the  paper  wrappings 
thrown  off.  Two  cases  of  dark  green  morocco  appeared. 
With  a  deep-drawn  breath  her  mother  carried  them  round 
the  table  and  set  them  before  Virginia. 

"They  are  to  be  yours/'  she  said,  gently.  "Open 
them." 

Virginia,  surprised,  but  unmoved,  lifted  the  covers  from 
the  cases.  In  one,  upon  a  green  satin  lining,  reposed  a 
necklace  of  round,  softly  shining  pearls,  set  in  gold,  with 
a  pendant  of  pear-shaped  pearls  and  sapphires.  The  other 
case  contained  a  hair  ornament,  also  of  pearls,  pink  and 
black,  in  two  even  rows,  surmounted  by  a  delicate  scroll- 
work of  the  smaller  stones,  that  shone  in  the  dusk  with 
exquisite  beauty. 

Virginia  drew  a  deep  sigh  of  admiration.  Lucy  cried 
out  with  delight ;  and  Madam  Trevor  and  the  gentlemen, 
looking  on  in  high  interest,  did  not  notice  Deborah,  who 
sat  silent,  eager,  with  her  great  eyes  fixed  in  unwinking 
fascination  on  the  perfect  gems. 

"  Put  them  on,  Virginia/'  cried  young  Charles,  and  there 
was  a  murmur  of  approval. 

Lilith,  who  had  been  standing  by  her  husband  at  a  little 
distance,  lost  in  admiration,  nudged  old  Adam. 

"Fetch  some  can'les,"  she  whispered,  excitedly. 

Virginia,  with  a  little  smile,  took  up  the  necklace,  and 
her  mother  clasped  it  about  her  slender  throat.  Then  the 
tiara  was  set  and  pinned  upon  her  powdered  curls,  and 
Adam,  coming  forward  with  a  candle  in  each  hand,  held 
the  lights  up  before  her. 

'"Ginny,  you  must  wear  them  to  the  ball!"  cried  Lucy, 
ecstatically. 

Virginia  had  no  time  to  reply,  for  her  mother  gently 
interposed :  "  They  are  not  Virginia's  yet,  Lucy.  She 
shall  wear  them  on  her  wedding-day." 

Charles  Fairfield  started  slightly  as  his  unfortunate  eyes 
suddenly  encountered  those  of  Virginia,  who,  in  her  turn, 
flushed  and  bent  her  head. 


198         The  House   of  de  Mailly 

"I  shall  never  wear  them,  then,"  was  on  her  tongue  to 
say ;  but  her  brother  interrupted. 

"Charlie,"  he  said,  addressing  his  cousin,  "come  down 
to  the  river  with  me  and  see  the  moon  rise.  It's  in  the  full 
to-night." 

"  Oh,  may  I  come,  too?"  said  Lucy,  eagerly. 

"No,  Lucy;  I  need  you  here/'  interposed  her  mother, 
much  annoyed  with  Vincent's  want  of  tact. 

Fairfield,  grasping  the  whole  situation,  rose  at  once, 
without  a  word.  Before  leaving  the  room  he  stole  an  in- 
voluntary glance  at  Deborah.  She  was  looking  at  him, 
for  she  herself  guessed  what  she  did  not  know.  Her  lips 
were  curled  into  a  little  smile  of  amusement  that  set  the 
man's  heart  on  fire  with  anger  at — Madam  Trevor.  He 
said  nothing,  however,  but  quietly  followed  Vincent  into 
the  still  evening. 

An  hour  later  Madam  Trevor  sat  alone  in  the  great  hall. 
Young  Charles  and  the  three  girls,  one  by  one,  had  gone 
to  their  various  rooms,  and  the  mother  was  waiting  alone 
for  the  return  of  her  son  and  her  nephew.  She  was  unac- 
countably anxious  over  the  result  of  the  interview,  though 
indeed  there  was  not  one  reason  which  her  nephew  could, 
in  honor,  conjure  up,  whereby  he  might  refuse  to  marry 
Virginia  Trevor.  It  was  with  the  understanding  of  a  some- 
time marriage  that  he  had  come  to  America  with  Vincent 
months  before,  and  because  the  matter  had  been  so  long 
silently  understood,  it  should  not  have  been  hard  for  him 
to  hear  it  finally  discussed.  Thus,  many  times  over,  Vir- 
ginia's mother  argued  in  the  candle-light,  while  she  waited. 
And  still,  into  the  midst  of  her  most  unanswerable  con- 
clusion, would  creep  a  doubt,  a  suspicion  that  she  would 
not  voice,  the  name  of  one  whom  she  tried  in  vain  to  put 
from  her  mind.  It  was  Deborah.  Deborah  Travis  and 
Charles  Fairfield  ?  Absurd  !  And  yet  —  madam  could 
see  the  face  of  the  girl  as  it  had  been  that  evening  when 
Vincent  and  his  cousin  left  the  room.  She  could  see  the 
ironical  light  in  the  gray-blue  eyes,  the  scornful  curl  of  the 
red  mouth,  the  unconscious  insolence  of  the  long,  natural 


The   Pearls  199 

curl  that  fell,  powderless,  down  her  shoulder  to  the  muslin 
ruffles  at  her  elbow.  Madam  Trevor  had  a  measure  of  justice 
in  her,  and  she  gave  Deborah  her  due,  admitting  to  herself 
that  Virginia,  in  all  her  stateliness,  with  the  pearls  upon 
her,  would  never  have  tempted  man  to  half  the  desperation 
that  might  be  raised  within  him  over  this  other  silent  creat- 
ure, half  child,  half  woman,  of  madam's  own  generation. 

The  clock  on  the  wall  ticked  ten  and  went  on  again. 
At  a  quarter  after,  Trevor  and  Fairfield  came  in  from 
the  moonlight  to  the  hall.  Fairfield  was  very  pale.  Vin- 
cent's face  was  calm  and  unreadable.  Sir  Charles,  see- 
ing his  aunt  expectant,  went  over  to  her,  lifted  her  passive 
hand  to  his  lips,  bowed,  and  left  the  room  to  retire  to  his 
own.  When  he  was  gone  madam  turned  a  puzzled  and 
anxious  face  towards  her  son,  who  stood  still,  narrowly 
scrutinizing  a  portrait  on  the  opposite  wall. 

"He  has  refused,  then,  Vincent?"  she  asked,  finally. 

"On  the  contrary,  he  will  marry  Virginia  when  you 
please." 

"Then  he  asked  too  much  dowry?" 

"He  said  nothing  at  all  of  dowry." 

"In  Heaven's  name,  then — what  is  the  matter?" 

Vincent  sighed,  rather  wearily.  "  Nothing  is  the  matter. 
He  does  not  love  Virginia,  of  course,  but — " 

"Nonsense,  my  boy!  He  would  not  marry  her  if  she 
were '  distasteful  to  him.  Love  will  come.  What  girl 
loves  her  husband  when  she  marries  him?  What  else 
did  he  say,  Vincent?" 

Vincent  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "He  said  nothing 
at  all.  He  informed  me,  when  I  spoke,  that  he  did  him- 
self the  honor  formally  to  ask  of  me  the  hand  of  my  elder 
sister.  I  accepted  the  offer.  After  that  we  walked  about. 
I  suppose  you  will  make  the  engagement  public  at  the 
ball  on  Wednesday.  I'm  deucedly  tired  to-night.  Per- 
mit me  to  wish  that  you  will  sleep  well." 

"Good-night,  my  dear  Vincent.  Your  scruples  portray 
the  height  of  your  nature.  I  honor  you  for  them — but  do 
not  worry.  Everything  will  be  well.  And  so  good-night." 


20O         The  House   of  de   Mailly 

With  great  relief  at  her  heart  the  mother  gently  kissed 
her  son,  and  then,  as  he  departed  with  his  candle,  she 
blew  out  all  but  one  of  those  remaining  in  the  hall,  and 
with  that  lighted  herself  to  her  rooms  in  the  eastern  wing. 

At  the  other  end  of  the  house,  in  the  chamber  corre- 
sponding to  Madam  Trevor's,  on  the  ground  floor,  was  that 
of  Sir  Charles.  Outside  his  room,  in  the  passage,  were 
the  stairs;  and  directly  overhead  were  the  long,  narrow 
spinning-room,  the  hand-loom  in  its  corner,  and,  incident- 
ally, Deborah's  diminutive  chamber.  Sir  Charles  had  re- 
tired, for  want  of  anything  better  to  do,  and  now  lay  on  his 
cool,  flat  bed,  sleepless,  restless,  and  a  prey  to  unhappy 
thoughts.  It  had  come  to  pass,  that  thing  which  he  had 
dreaded  all  the  summer  through.  He  was  engaged  to 
marry  Virginia  Trevor.  In  a  night  or  two  all  Maryland 
would  be  ringing  with  the  affair.  In  as  many  months  he 
and  his  bride  would  be  leaving  the  colonies,  Annapolis,  the 
plantation — in  short,  Deborah — probably  forever.  And  Sir 
Charles  twisted  and  turned  and  tried  to  put  the  grayish 
eyes  and  the  curling  red  lips  out  of  his  mind.  They  re- 
fused to  go.  Finally  another  thought  came  to  bear  them 
company — a  thought  generated  by  them,  perhaps,  and 
certainly  bold  enough  and  daring  enough  to  smack  of 
the  Court  of  a  Stuart,  and  to  seem  absolutely  mad  in 
this  prim  colonial  bedroom  of  old  George  Guelph's  staid 
American  dependency.  None  the  less  the  thought  had 
found  a  congenial  home,  and  it  expanded,  flourished, 
and  gained  body  and  limb  till  a  merry,  full-grown  plot 
was  playing  havoc  with  young  Fairfield's  hope  of  sleep. 
He  continued  to  lie  there,  restless  and  scheming,  till  all 
his  own  thoughts  were  banished  by  the  sound  of  foot- 
steps and  a  trailing  of  garments,  and  a  curious  liveliness 
of  movement  coming  to  his  quickened  senses  from  the 
room  overhead. 

Deborah  also  was  awake.  Rather,  the  moonlight,  creep- 
ing along  the  pillow  to  her  face,  had  roused  her,  by  slow 
degrees,  from  a  half  waking  dream.  Alone,  in  the  silent, 
enchanted  night,  with  no  disturbing  day-thoughts  to  ban- 


The   Pearls  201 

ish  the  lingering  visions  of  sleep,  the  dream  stayed  and 
grew  to  be  a  fantasy  of  reality.  She  rose  from  her  bed 
and  moved  slowly  towards  her  open  windows,  through 
which  the  bluish  silver  moonlight  flowed,  changing  the 
room  into  a  misty-veiled  fairy  place.  Below,  outside  the 
window,  lay  the  dreaming  rose-garden.  The  lazily  float- 
ing odor  of  full-blown  flowers  came  up  to  her,  as  incense 
on  its  way  to  a  higher  heaven.  Beyond  this  lay  the 
deep-shadowed  wood,  with  here  and  there  a  high,  feathery 
tree-top  waving  to  the  stars.  The  rippling  plash  of  the 
river  played  a  low  accompaniment  to  the  night  hymns 
of  the  myriad  creatures  singing  through  the  country-side. 
Far  beyond  the  garden,  rising  like  two  cloud-shadows 
through  the  luminous  night,  were  the  great  tobacco  barns. 
Slave -cabins,  still -house,  kitchen,  well -sweep,  all  were 
changed,  by  the  mysterious  power  of  night,  to  things 
of  natural  beauty.  And  Deborah  was  changed.  Her 
dreams  had  been  of  courts  and  palaces,  of  dimly  resplen- 
dent royal  figures,  among  which  she,  and  Charles  Fair- 
field,  and  Claude  de  Mailly  moved  in  inexplicable  near- 
relationship.  She,  Deborah  Travis,  had  just  been  crowned 
Queen  of  all  Europe  by  the  hand  of  Majesty,  with  her 
cousin  Virginia's  pearls.  Now,  in  the  waking  dream, 
Deborah  could  not  turn  her  thoughts  from  those  same 
softly  shining  things  that  Virginia  was  to  wear  upon  her 
wedding-day. 

Presently,  with  this  single  image  in  her  mind,  Deborah 
found  herself  outside  her  room,  and  creeping,  in  her  white 
garment,  with  naked  feet,  down,  down  the  stairs,  past 
Sir  Charles's  door,  through  the  deserted,  moonlit  living- 
rooms,  with  their  misplaced  furniture  and  the  scattered 
articles  of  a  day  waiting  for  dawn  and  Lilith  to  be  put 
straight.  She  passed  across  the  sitting-room,  down  the 
east  passage,  and,  finally,  in  at  the  doorway  of  Madam 
Trevor's  dressing-room.  Once  inside  Deborah  halted. 
Madam  Trevor's  garments  lay,  neatly  folded,  upon  a 
chair.  The  door  to  the  bedchamber  beyond  was  half 
closed.  From  within  came  the  light  sound  of  regular 


2O2         The  House   of  de  Mailly 

breathing.  Deborah  smiled,  and  turned  to  the  great  black 
chest  of  drawers  beside  the  window.  Here  also  the  moon- 
light illumined  her  way.  She  opened  the  top  drawer 
noiselessly.  Within,  on  a  bed  of  lavender,  lay  the  two 
morocco  cases  for  which  she  had  come.  She  took  them 
up,  left  the  drawer  open,  and  glided  quietly  away  again. 

Once  more  in  her  own  room  the  girl  opened  the  cases 
and  placed  them  on  her  dressing-table,  their  priceless 
contents  all  unveiled.  Then  she  went  to  her  own  chest 
of  drawers,  and  took  from  one  of  them  the  dress  that  she 
was  to  wear  two  nights  later  at  the  Governor's  ball,  a 
petticoat  of  stiff,  white  satin,  and  an  overdress  of  China 
crepe,  of  the  color  of  apple-blossoms,  a  thing  that  clung 
lovingly  to  her  lithe  figure,  and  vied  in  softness  of  tone 
with  her  neck  and  arms.  These  things  she  put  on,  with 
rapid,  careless  precision;  and  then,  her  fingers  grown  a 
little  colder,  she  lifted  the  pearl  necklace  from  its  satin 
bed  and  clasped  it  about  her  warm  throat.  Afterwards 
she  sat  down  on  a  low  chair  before  the  dressing-table, 
with  its  dim  mirror,  and  took  the  tiara  from  the  other 
box,  placing  it  over  her  rebellious,  silky  curls. 

"Ah,  Claude,  Claude,  how  was  it,  that  thy  cousin 
looked?"  she  murmured  indistinctly,  with  a  vague  smile 
at  her  thought. 

The  dreamy,  languorous  eyes  that  knew  not  all  they 
beheld,  gazed  at  the  reflected  image  of  her  face.  How 
beautifully  the  young  head  in  its  coronet  was  poised  upon 
the  pearl-wreathed  neck!  Was  it  a  new  Deborah  sprung 
to  life  here,  in  this  August  midnight?  Was  it  only  a 
momentary  madness  that  should  not  be  told,  this  carrying 
out  of  a  dim  vision?  What  was  it  that  Deborah  mur- 
mured to  her  mirror?  What  did  she  say  to  the  shadowy 
throngs  of  courtiers  that  pressed  about  her  chair?  Was 
ever  la  Chateauroux  more  regal,  more  gracious?  Were 
ever  Comtesse  de  Mailly,  and  poor  little  Pauline  Felicite, 
Marie  Anne's  predecessors,  more  gay,  more  delicately 
glowing,  than  this  other,  of  alien  race? 

From  the  heap  of  her  finery  Deborah  sought  out  a  paint- 


The    Pearls  203 

ed  fan,  and,  with  this  finishing  touch  of  coquetry,  she  be- 
gan walking  up  and  down  her  tiny  room,  pausing  now 
and  then  at  the  window,  for  the  night  would  not  be  dis- 
regarded, waving  the  fan  with  an  air  inimitable  and  un- 
acquired,  seeing  herself  thus  in  the  Orangerie  of  Versailles, 
or  on  one  of  the  Paris  boulevards  as  crowded  with  fashion 
and  gallantry  upon  a  Sunday  afternoon.  After  a  little 
she  grew  tired,  and  her  mind  dropped  its  imaginings. 
She  seated  herself  beside  the  window,  and,  unclasping 
the  necklace,  took  it  off  and  held  the  jewels  up  in  the  moon- 
light, pressing  their  soft  smoothness  to  her  cheek,  where 
the  pendant  drops  hung  like  falling  tears. 

Suddenly,  upon  the  perfect  stillness  around  her,  broke  a 
sound.  Slow  stealthy  footsteps  were  crossing  the  floor  of 
the  spinning-room  just  outside.  Deborah  grew  cold  with 
instant  terror.  She  heard  a  hand  placed  upon  her  door, 
and  then  came  a  voice,  soft,  well  known,  through  the  still- 
ness :  ' '  Deborah — Deborah ! ' ' 

It  was  the  lightest  of  whispers,  but  every  accent  fell  dis- 
tinctly on  the  girl's  terrified  ears.  Moving  noiselessly  in 
her  bare  feet,  she  carried  the  necklace  to  the  bureau,  took 
the  ornament  from  her  head,  and  laid  each  piece  in  its  case. 
Then,  running  across  the  floor,  she  knelt  in  her  ball-dress, 
at  the  door,  grasping  its  handle  firmly. 

"  Deborah — you  are  awake?"  repeated  Sir  Charles,  more 
delicately  yet. 

The  girl  breathed  fast,  but  made  not  a  sound.  Only  her 
hand  tightened  upon  the  handle,  and  her  figure  stiffened 
with  determination. 

"  Let  me  come  in,"  he  said. 

Then  silence  fell  between  the  two,  separated  by  three 
inches  of  board  and  Deborah's  will,  there  in  the  August 
night.  There  was  no  one  to  know  that  he  was  there.  Vin- 
cent, and  Lucy,  and  young  Charles  Carroll,  sound  sleepers 
all  of  them,  were  in  the  body  of  the  house;  and  Virginia 
was  above  her  mother  in  the  far  eastern  wing.  The  muscles 
in  Deborah's  body  grew  more  rigid,  and  desperately  she 
held  herself  against  the  door.  But  Fairfield  was  making 


204        The  House   of  de  Mailly 

no  effort  to  enter.  It  should  be  only  with  her  own  consent 
that  he  would  do  that. 

"Deborah — beloved — open  to  me!  Deborah — hear  me 
as  I  have  heard  you  for  an  hour  past.  Let  me  in — Deb- 
orah— my  dear!" 

She  shut  her  eyes  and  pressed  her  forehead  against  her 
arm.  There  was  a  silence,  breathless,  endless,  terrifying 
to  the  girl  in  the  room.  Then  her  weight  of  fear  wras  lifted. 
The  footsteps  slowly  retreated  from  her  door,  out  of  the 
spinning-room,  down  the  stairs,  and  entered  into  the  room 
below  her  own.  She  sank  weakly  to  her  knees,  and  a 
breath  like  a  sob  shook  her  slight  frame.  She  was  in- 
tensely sleepy  now.  For  very  weariness,  it  was  hard  to 
realize  the  crisis  through  which  she  had  passed.  But  there 
was  a  task  still  before  her,  and  one  at  which  she  trembled. 
Rising  unsteadily,  too  wise  to  give  herself  time  to  think, 
she  took  the  jewel-cases  from  her  toilet-table,  opened  her 
door,  crept  out,  and  down  the  stairs,  and  passed  stealthily 
back  to  madam's  dressing-room.  The  room,  the  drawer, 
were  as  she  had  left  them.  Replacing  Virginia's  pearls  in 
their  bed  of  lavender,  she  pushed  the  drawer  to,  inch  by 
inch,  till  it  was  closed.  Three  minutes  later  she  had  once 
more  crossed  the  threshold  of  her  own  room.  And  while 
the  pale  moon  set  and  the  day  dawned  in  crimson  and  tur- 
quoise over  the  distant  Chesapeake,  Deborah  slept  dream- 
lessly — Claude,  and  the  Versailles  pageants,  and  Charles 
Fairfield's  strange  madness  all  lost  to  her  for  the  moment 
under  the  spell  of  the  great  blessing  of  youth. 

Matters  were  different  with  Sir  Charles,  below.  No  sleep 
had  the  dusky  dawn,  with  its  liquid  bird-warblings  and  its 
fresh  day-odor,  for  him.  He  was  thinking  of  what  he  had 
done — and  of  what  he  should  do.  The  impulse  that  had 
driven  him  to  go  to  the  room  above  was  past  now.  He 
knew  only  that  he  had  forfeited  her  very  tolerance  of  him ; 
and  the  thought  quickened  his  half-generated  love  into  a 
sudden,  fervid  life  that  swayed  his  senses  and  fired  his  brain 
to  plots  and  plans  of  unwise  daring.  At  six  o'clock  he  was 
dressed,  and  sat  him  down  to  wait  for  Deborah's  waking. 


The    Pearls  205 

It  was  an  endless  hour,  and  day  had  begun  over  the  whole 
plantation  before  he  heard  her  cross  the  floor  over  his  head, 
and  knew  that  his  waiting  was  bounded  at  last. 

Deborah  was  half  dressed  before  the  sudden  memory  of 
the  past  night  flashed  over  her.  Then  her  hands  dropped 
to  her  sides,  and  she  sat  still  for  a  little,  thinking.  How 
should  she  meet  Charles  Fairfield  before  them  all — or,  worse 
yet,  if  possible,  alone?  How  could  he  meet  her?  Had 
she  done  anything  wrong?  No.  What  he  had  done  was 
not  her  concern.  And  thereupon,  with  a  lighter  heart,  but 
doubt  still  in  her  face,  she  finished  dressing,  set  her  room 
to  rights — for  she  was  immaculately  neat — and  started 
away  without  seeming  reluctance.  She  was  going  down- 
stairs, her  thoughts  centred  on  the  breakfast-room  as  the 
place  of  ordeal.  The  door  at  the  stair-foot  opened;  Sir 
Charles  came  out  of  his  room  and  stood  below  her,  barring 
the  way. 

She  stopped  stock-still,  noting  the  pallor  of  his  face  and 
the  dark  circles  below  his  blue  eyes.  Then  suddenly  she 
smiled,  and  said,  brightly,  "Good-morning,  Sir  Charles." 

"  Is  it  good-morning  to  me,  Deborah?  Deborah,  I  make 
you  my  humblest  apologies.  I  crave  your  for — " 

She  came  down  the  last  three  steps  with  a  changed  ex- 
pression. "We'll  not  speak  of  that,"  she  said,  slowly,  in 
a  perfectly  frigid  tone. 

Thereupon  she  would  have  passed  him,  but  he  caught 
her  suddenly  by  the  delicate  wrists.  "  Yes,  we  will  speak 
of  it,  Debby.  I  will  have  it  so.  You  shall  grant  me  par- 
don, Debby." 

"  And  why,  sir,  pray  ?    Is  my  pardon  at  your  command  ?' ' 

"You'll  forgive  me  because — because  I  love  you,  Deb- 
orah. You'll  forget  when  you  are  become  my  wife. 
You  will  pardon  me  when  you  know  all." 

Down  the  upper  hall  came  the  blithe,  morning  whistle  of 
young  Charles  Carroll.  He  was  approaching  the  stairs. 

"  Speak  to  me,  Deborah,"  muttered  Fairfield,  with  des- 
perate earnestness. 

Deborah  gave  him  a  long,  strange  look  from  her  gray 


206         The  House   of  de  Mailly 

eyes.  It  was  an  inscrutable  look,  one  that  baffled  him  who 
caught  it;  but  he  did  not  know  that  the  feeling  which  it 
called  forth  had  baffled  also  the  girl. 

"Good-morning  to  you,  Deborah!"  cried  young  Charles. 
"Good-morning,  Fairfield!  Oh,  but  I'm  hungry!  Are 
we  going  to  breakfast  now?" 

"Yes,  I  suppose  so,"  responded  Deborah,  absently. 

"Do  you  return  to  town  this  morning?"  inquired  Fair- 
field,  as  they  all  passed  through  the  sitting-room. 

"  Yes.     Though  if  I  could  help  it,  I  would  not." 

"  I'll  ride  with  you,  then.  I  am  going  to-day  to  call  on 
Rockwell.  Good-morning,  Lucy.  Ah,  Vincent!" 

"You  ride  to  town  to-day?"  inquired  Vincent,  when  the 
greetings  were  over.  "You'll  see  Rockwell  to-morrow, 
you  know,  at  our  famous  ball." 

"  Um — yes,  but  I  prefer  to-day.  I've  a  matter  to  arrange 
with  him." 

At  this  speech  Deborah  glanced  at  Fairfield,  and,  at  the 
meaning  in  his  look,  a  wave  of  color  rolled  swiftly  over  her 
face.  It  was  as  well  that,  at  this  moment,  Madam  Trevor, 
with  Virginia  close  behind  her,  entered  the  breakfast-room, 
and  the  morning  meal  began. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

The    Governor's    Ball 

UESDAY  passed  as  rapidly  or  as  slowly  as 
one  would  have  had  the  last  day  before  a 
long  -  looked  -  for  event.  Sir  Charles  rode 
away  in  the  early  morning,  but  returned 
to  the  plantation  in  the  afternoon,  to  find 
even  Vincent  busy  over  a  package  of  finery  sent  out,  at 
Madam  Trevor's  order,  from  the  Baltimore.  Sir  Charles 
himself  was  not  interested.  His  spotless  full-dress  uni- 
form, his  orders,  his  finest  ruffles,  his  paste  buckles  and 
silk  stockings  were  quite  ready,  and  there  were  no 
further  touches  that  he  could  add  to  the  costume.  Dur- 
ing the  afternoon  and  evening  he  paid  no  attention  at  all 
to  Deborah,  but  was,  on  the  contrary,  so  attentive  to  his 
fiancee  that  Madam  Trevor  softened  and  grew  voluble  with 
pleasure. 

Wednesday  dawned  clear  and  hot,  and  from  earliest 
morning  every  household  in  the  county  was  in  a  moil 
of  final  preparation.  Governor  Bladen  was  to  give  a 
dinner  to  the  commissioners  and  his  own  staff  and  offi- 
cials before  the  ball.  To  this,  of  course,  Sir  Charles  had 
been  bidden,  and  he,  therefore,  was  to  leave  the  house  at 
four  in  the  afternoon,  fully  dressed  for  the  evening,  wrapped 
about  in  a  long  and  voluminous  cloak  to  protect  him  from 
the  dust  and  the  foam  of  his  horse.  As  he  passed  through 
the  sitting-room  on  his  way  out  to  the  portico,  where  his 
animal  waited,  he  found  Deborah  standing  by  a  table- 
ful of  moss-roses  which  she  was  sorting.  Passing  close 
to  her  side  he  said,  gallantly:  "Faith,  Debby,  you'll  be 
no  fairer  to-night  in  the  satins  than  you  are  now  in  calico," 


208        The  House   of  de  Mailly 

And,  while  he  stopped  to  take  a  bud  from  the  heap,  he 
added,  in  a  rapid  undertone:  "If  you'd  not  drive  me 
mad,  little  girl,  bring  your  courage  with  you  to-night, 
and  see  that  you  trust  to  me  truly,  as  1  do  to  you." 

Then  he  passed  on,  and  Deborah,  unconscious  of  what 
she  did,  followed  him  slowly  out  to  the  portico  and  stood 
gazing  after  him  as  he  galloped  away  down  the  dusty 
drive.  Strange  words  he  had  spoken — and  the  first  that 
he  had  given  her  all  day.  Yet  she  was  not  surprised  by 
them.  Words  were  oftentimes  superfluous  with  Deborah, 
for  she  had  the  power  of  knowing  men's  thoughts.  Dream- 
ily her  eyes  wandered  down  the  road  at  the  little  cloud 
of  dust  that  lingered  after  him.  She  was  soon  to  follow  on 
that  way.  And  how — how  was  she  to  return?  She  could 
not  answer  the  question,  and  it  was  as  well  that  Lucy 
at  that  moment  called  her  from  the  house : 

"  Come,  Debby,  come  and  pack  your  things  for  the  doc- 
tor's to-night.  And  'tis  nearly  time  to  dress;  and  oh, 
Deb!  Think  of  the  dancing,  and  the  lights,  and  our 
dresses — and  all,  and  all,  and  all!"  And  with  sober  John 
Whitney  gone  quite  out  of  her  mind  for  the  moment,  Lucy 
fluttered  away  to  her  room,  leaving  Deborah  to  follow  as 
she  would. 

His  excellency  John  Bladen,  like  most  colonial  gov- 
ernors, knew  how  to  give  a  dinner  to  any  one,  and,  most 
particularly,  a  dinner  to  men  only.  To-night  twenty 
sat  at  his  table:  the  seven  returned  commissioners,  the 
gubernatorial  staff,  the  speaker  of  the  Burgesses,  the 
under-secretary,  Mr.  Robert  King,  Dr.  Charles  Carroll 
(this  last  from  friendship  purely),  and,  for  the  sake  of  the 
Church,  the  Reverend  George  Rockwell.  The  select  com- 
pany ate  mightily,  but,  later,  drank  more  cautiously  than 
usual  out  of  respect  to  the  forthcoming  festivities;  and 
finally  they  sat  about  the  disordered  table  with  some  pipes 
of  fine  Virginia  tobacco,  presented  by  Governor  Gooch 
in  lieu  of  his  own  presence,  some  bottles  of  Madeira  from 
the  same  patronizing  source,  and  certain  good  stories, 
not  quite  invented  for  the  ear  of  the  Church,  but  apparently 


The   Governor's   Ball  209 

in  no  way  distasteful  to  the  eminent  rector  of  St.  Anne's, 
who,  indeed,  to  be  frank,  told  the  best  of  them  himself. 
It  was  a  man's  dinner,  an  official  dinner,  where,  none  the 
less,  the  weight  of  ordinary  dignity  was  for  once  dropped 
off,  and  all  went  merry  as  a  marriage  bell.  Sir  Charles 
was  seated  opposite  to  Benedict  Calvert,  with  a  brother 
lieutenant  on  either  side  of  him.  His  wit  was  poignant, 
his  laughter  ready,  and  his  head  cool,  albeit  there  was 
enough  work  in  his  brain  to  have  made  a  man  less  careless 
too  anxious  to  eat.  Rockwell  being  several  seats  away, 
it  was  impossible  to  speak  with  him  on  personal  topics ; 
but  the  moment  it  was  announced  that  Lady  Bladen  wait- 
ed in  the  drawing-room,  Rockwell  and  Fairfield  sought 
each  other  through  the  little  throng,  as  if  by  mutual  un- 
derstanding. 

"  You're  prepared  to  go  through  with  it,  George?"  asked 
the  young  man,  putting  one  hand  on  the  rector's  shoulder. 

"Egad,  if  you  can  go  it,  1  can,  Sir  Charles." 

"You'll  miss  something  of  the  festivity  —  but  you'll 
be  ten  pounds  heavier  in  pocket  to-morrow,  George." 

"Ay.  And  so  the  lady's  consented?  Faith!  She  well 
may!  It's  such  a  chance  as  she  never  dreamed  of." 

"The  lady  does  not  know,  yet.  I'll  take  her  to-night, 
in  the  heat  of  the  evening,  when  her  blood  will  be  up. 
She's  rare,  George,  she's  rare!  Odds  my  life  that  such 
another  woman  does  not  live !  I — " 

"Tut!     Then  you're  still  determined— that— " 

"What?" 

"It  shall  be  legal?" 

"Zounds,  man,  not  another  word!  What  do  you  take 
me  for?  She's  a  cousin,  I  tell  you,  George.  And  I'm 
already  engaged  to  Miss  Trevor." 

"The  devil  you  are!" 

"Ay.  I  couldn't  escape.  'Twill  be  all  out  to-night. 
But  I'll  have  little  Deborah  if  1  have  to  fight  Annap- 
olis single-handed." 

"Urn.  About  the  ceremony — Miriam  Vawse  will  wit- 
ness for  one,  but  'tis  usual  to  have  two — " 


2io        The  House    of  de  Mailly 

"There's  the  Frenchman.  Faith,  that  would  be  a 
stroke!  He's  led  me  a  jealous  dance  for  months.  We'll 
have  him  down  from  his  room  to  sign  the  articles — or 
whatever  you  do.  To  think  that  I'll  be  a  Benedict  by 
morning!  Lord!  Lord!  Congratulate  me,  George \" 

"Come  away,  man.  You've  too  much  Jamaica  in  you, 
and  the  ladies  are  beginning  to  arrive.  1  hear  Mistress 
Paca's  voice  on  the  stairs.  Come  and  make  your  com- 
pliments to  the  Governor's  lady." 

Having  performed  this  duty  as  punctiliously  as  only 
he  was  able,  Sir  Charles  left  Rockwell's  side  and  strolled 
slowly  up  the  big,  candle-lit  room,  at  one  end  of  which  a 
band  of  musicians  were  already  tuning  their  instruments. 
After  a  moment  or  two  of  indecision  he  joined  a  little  com- 
pany of  officers  who  sat  together  in  a  corner,  talking  light- 
ly among  themselves,  and  commenting  on  the  guests  who 
were  beginning  to  arrive. 

"Ouf!  On  my  soul,  there's  Cradock  with  Rockwell. 
How  do  they  stand  it?" 

"  Oh,  the  chaplain's  been  off  so  long  that  he's  forgotten 
how  they  once  struggled  for  St.  Anne's — " 

"  Or  else  he  wants  to  hear  the  story  that  George  wouldn't 
tell  over  the  Madeira." 

"Yes,  I've  listened  to  it  fourteen  times,  but  always  with 
Jamaica  to  back  it." 

"There's  Dorothy  Mason  and  her  mother." 

"Egad,  she's  got  on  green  again!  'Tis  the  only  color 
that  does  not  become  her.  Why — " 

"Oh,  doubtless  young  Thomas  likes  it." 

"There  he  is—" 

"  With  Caroline  Harwood.     Poor  Dorry ! " 

"I'll  go  comfort  her." 

One  of  the  young  men  left  the  group  and  joined  the 
knot  of  ladies  who  stood  talking  at  a  little  distance  from 
the  door. 

"Oh,  good-evening,  Lieutenant  Henry!" cried  a  piquant" 
looking  damsel  in  a  gown  of  rather  brilliant  green  satin, 
with  flounced  petticoat  of  white, 


The   Governor's   Ball  211 

"Your  most  obedient,  Mistress  Mason.  I  can  see  you 
will  have  small  mercy  on  hearts  to-night." 

"Lord,  Mr.  Henry,  you're  the  most  open  flatterer!  I 
vow  I  never  looked  worse. " 

"Oh,  I  protest!  I  call  the  gods  to  witness!  Are  you 
engaged  for  the  minuet?" 

Dorothy  wriggled  her  shoulders,  colored,  glanced  swiftly 
towards  Robin  Thomas,  who  still  lingered  by  Miss  Har— 
wood,  saw  that  the  case  was  hopeless  for  her,  and  so 
replied,  in  a  provoked  manner:  "La!  How  should  1  be 
engaged  when  we've  seen  no  one  for  a  week?  Our  plan- 
tation's such  a  distance  from  the  river." 

"You'll  honor  me,  then?" 

"  Oh,  with  thanks.  Look,  there  are  the  Trevors.  They 
were  just  in  the  dressing-room  when  1  came  down.  You've 
heard  the  news?" 

"No.     Tell  it  me." 

"  'Ginny  Trevor's  engaged  at  last." 

"What!     Not  to— " 

"Sir  Charles  Fairneld." 

"  Monstrous !  Monstrous !  Why,  he's  been  eating  with 
us  for  three  hours  and  never  told!  Lord!  If  'twere  any 
but  you  had  told  me,  I  swear  I'd  discredit  it.  There  he  goes 
to  them  now." 

Madam  Trevor,  her  daughters,  Vincent,  and  Deborah  were 
just  entering  the  room.  They  had  arrived  fifteen  minutes 
before,  and  no  time,  certainly,  had  been  wasted  in  the  an- 
nouncement of  Virginia's  engagement.  The  room  was  in 
a  buzz  of  conversation,  and  not  a  little  of  it  was  relative  to 
the  two  young  people  who  now  stood  rather  uncomfortably 
side  by  side,  Virginia  straight  and  cold,  her  companion 
cursing  inwardly  at  women's  tongues,  and  staring  at  the 
back  of  Deborah,  who  was  laughing  with  Will  Paca. 

"You  will  give  me  the  minuet,  at  least,  Virginia?"  he 
asked,  with  considerate  nonchalance. 

She  shrugged  slightly,  as  she  rejoined :  "  Go  and  engage 
Debby  for  a  country-dance,  then,  before  she  is  all  bespoken. " 

Fairfield  glanced  at  her  sharply,  with  surprise  in  his  look. 


212        The  House   of  de  Mailly 

She  was  smiling  at  him  in  the  most  unconcerned  manner 
possible.  After  an  instant's  hesitation  he  bowed  deeply, 
and  left  her  side,  but  made  his  way  first  to  Lucy,  who  was 
manoeuvring  to  avoid  Rockwell.  From  her  he  obtained 
two  country-dances,  for  it  was  the  fashion  to  change  part- 
ners after  the  opening  minuet  and  every  two  dances  there- 
after. Then  he  proceeded  to  Deborah,  with  whom  Carleton 
Jennings  was  speaking. 

"  Ah,  lieutenant!"  cried  that  youth,  merrily,  at  Charles's 
approach.  "Miss  Travis  is  just  recounting  your  happi- 
ness. I'm  in  the  same  estate  myself,  you  know,  and — you 
have  my  congratulations.  Miss  Trevor  cannot  fail  to 
grace  whatever  station  in  life  she  may  attain  to.  1 — " 

"There  now,  that's  quite  enough,  Jennings.  Go  and 
engage  her  for  a  dance,  and  pour  a  few  of  my  graces  into 
her  ears.  I've  come  to  claim  some  attention  of  Miss 
Travis,"  cried  Fairfield,  with  such  unabashed  good-nature 
that  Jennings  could  not  be  angry.  Thereupon,  with  a 
smile  and  an  earnest  injunction  to  Deborah  not  to  forget 
the  promised  dances,  he  went  off  to  Virginia. 

The  instant  that  he  was  alone  with  Deborah,  Fairfield 's 
artificial  manner  dropped  from  him,  and  he  betrayed  the 
extent  to  which  he  had  keyed  his  nerves. 

"  You'll  give  me  the  fourth  and  fifth,  and  the  eighth  and 
ninth,  Deborah?"  he  whispered,  huskily,  drawing  her  a 
little  towards  the  wall. 

The  girl  looked  keenly  into  his  pale  face.  "  Two  are 
enough.  Why  do  you  ask  more  of  me?"  she  inquired. 

"  Because  I  have  so  much  to  explain  to  you.  Because 
so  much  must  happen  to-night.  You'll  grant  me  the 
dances?" 

"  If  you  like.     What  is  to  happen  to-night?" 

He  leaned  over  her  and  looked  straight  down  into  her 
steady  eyes.  "  I  am  going  to  marry  you  to-night,"  he  whis- 
pered, quietly. 

Deborah  did  not  change  color.  She  scarcely  realized 
what  he  had  said. 

"  How?  Where?"  she  asked,  a  faint  smile  curling  her  lips. 


The    Governor's    Ball  213 

" No — I  mean  it.     I  will  tell  you  when  we  dance." 

Pausing  a  moment,  undecidedly,  after  those  words,  he 
presently  turned  and  left  her  there,  staring  at  the  opposite 
wall,  not  perceiving  the  little  throng  of  officers  who  had 
set  upon  Charles  with  sudden  elaborate  congratulations, 
a  good  deal  of  chaff,  and  some  expostulation,  just  across 
the  room.  Nor  did  she  see  Will  Paca,  her  partner  for  the 
minuet,  till  she  found  him  demanding  the  subject  of  her 
meditations. 

The  first  strains  of  the  opening  minuet  came  from  the 
orchestra  up  the  room.  The  moving  throng  suddenly  re- 
solved into  order,  and  various  sets  of  sixteen  were  formed. 
The  two  Trevor  girls  were  excellent  dancers,  both  showing- 
appreciation  of  natural  harmony  by  the  way  in  which  they 
managed  themselves:  Lucy  lightly,  with  an  occasional 
added  step ;  Virginia,  with  languorous  grace,  keeping  per- 
fect time,  yet  moving  more  leisurely  than  any  other  woman 
in  the  room.  As  to  Deborah,  her  dancing  was,  ordinarily, 
the  delight  of  her  partner;  for,  no  matter  how  lively  her 
conversation,  she  had  never  been  known  to  halt  at  a  step. 
To-night  it  appeared  as  though  she  had  forgotten  the  very 
rudiments  of  the  accomplishment.  She  failed  on  all  the 
returns,  stumbled  in  her  courtesies,  walked  upon  the  train 
of  the  lady  in  front  of  her,  and,  withal,  maintained  such 
unbreakable  silence  throughout  the  dance  that  her  partner 
breathed  with  relief  when  the  last  chord  was  struck  and  the 
old  people  prepared  to  retire  to  cards.  When  Will  Paca  had 
left  her  and  Robin  Thomas  approached  for  the  first  coun- 
try-dance, Deborah  shook  herself  vigorously,  and  vowed 
that  for  twenty  minutes,  at  least,  she  would  forget  the  ex- 
istence of  Sir  Charles,  in  favor  of  her  partner  of  the  mo- 
ment. 

In  the  mean  time  Lucy  had  stumbled  into  a  most  unfort- 
unate situation.  The  minuet  over,  she  and  her  compan- 
ion, talking  and  laughing  together  after  the  breaking  up 
of  the  set,  passed  out  of  the  large  drawing-room  into  the 
hall,  across  which  were  the  card-rooms.  Towards  these 
Madam  Trevor,  with  Mrs.  Harwood  and  Mr.  King,  was 


214        The  House   of  de    Mailly 

making  her  way,  chatting  volubly.  As  Lucy  and  her 
cavalier  passed  these  three,  the  gentleman  stopped  her, 
smiling : 

"Soho!  This  is  the  maid  who  had  the  impertinence  to 
be  engaged  before  her  elder  sister!  Little  rninx!  And 
how  d'ye  like  Mistress  Virginia's  great  match  with  your 
cousin?  And  will  love  keep  the  rectory  warm  for  you  while 
the  windows  of  Castle  Fairfield  are  blazing  with  lights  in 
old  England?  Eh,  small  puss?" 

Madam  Trevor  looked  extremely  ill  at  ease  during  this 
tasteless  speech,  especially  as  Mr.  King  did  not  drop  Lucy's 
arm  at  the  end  of  it,  but  seemed  to  hold  her  to  reply.  Lucy's 
face  was  flushed  scarlet,  and,  to  crown  the  affair,  George 
Rockwell,  with  Vincent  at  his  elbow,  suddenly  joined  the 
group. 

"1  am  not  engaged,  Mr.  King,"  said  Lucy,  clearly. 

"Not  engaged,  Lucy!  Why,  how  now!  We  had  all 
heard  from  thy  mother,  here,  that  Mr.  Rockwell  was  the 
happiest  of  men,"  cried  Mistress  Harwood,  noting  madam's 
discomfort  with  a  spice  of  malice. 

"  Faith,  Mistress  Harwood,  my  happiness  is  small  enough 
to-night,"  remarked  the  portly  George,  coming  forward. 
"  The  lady  would  not  even  grant  me  one  Sir  Roger." 

Mistress  Harwood  raised  her  brows  in  amusement.  "  For 
an  accepted  husband,  you  are  gentle  not  to  command  one/' 
she  said,  laughing. 

"Lucy,  name  Mr.  Rockwell  his  dances  at  once,  if  he 
would  still  have  them  from  any  one  so  discourteous.  I 
blush  for  you,  indeed!"  interposed  her  mother,  sharply. 

"Oh,  coquetry — coquetry,  madam!  Youth  is  light  o' 
heart.  Come  now,  fafr  Lucy,  and  make  this  man  happy," 
put  in  Mr.  King,  detaining  her  still. 

Little  Lucy  raised  her  head,  and  caught  Vincent's  eyes 
upon  her.  His  glance  was  not  unkind.  "  I  shall  not  grant 
Mr.  Rockwell  any  dance  to-night,  and — and  I  am  engaged, 
indeed,  but  not  to  him." 

"What!" 

"  I  am.     I  am  engaged  to  Will  Paca  for  the  next  dances." 


The   Governor's   Ball  215 


Lucy  was  stumbling  now,  fear  at  her  daring  sweeping 
suddenly  over  her. 

Mr.  King,  in  the  midst  of  his  laughter,  found  breath  to 
say:  "Will  Paca  for  the  dances,  but  who  for  the  wed- 
ding, little  Lucy — who's  for  that?" 

Once  more  Lucy  Trevor  caught  her  brother's  gaze,  and 
she  clung  to  it,  unheeding  Madam  Trevor's  angry  face 
and  Rockwell's  mortified  one. 

"  I  shall  wed  John  Whitney — the  Puritan.  Let  me  go, 
Mr.  King!  Mr.  Chase  is  waiting!" 

And  Lucy,  frightened,  triumphant,  proud  of  her  faith 
in  the  man  she  loved,  more  proud  of  her  certainty  of 
his  love  for  her,  tore  herself  from  Mr.  King's  loosened 
grasp,  and,  giving  her  hand  to  Jerry  Chase,  fairly  ran 
away. 

The  group  that  she  left  behind  was  silent.  Madam  Trevor, 
utterly  overcome,  had  not  a  word  left  at  her  command. 
Rockwell  was  in  much  the  same  state.  Vincent,  not  a 
little  astonished  at  his  gentle  sister's  boldness,  and  decid- 
ing that  the  feeling  which  prompted  it  must  be  strong, 
was  making  a  decision  that  was  rather  remarkable  in, 
and  exceedingly  creditable  to,  a  man  of  those  narrow  times. 
Mistress  Harwood  planned  a  morning's  gossip  on  the 
morrow  with  a  neighbor,  at  Antoinette  Trevor's  expense, 
and  Mr.  King  decided  that,  were  he  a  young  blade  again, 
it  would  be  a  girl  of  such  spirit  that  he  would  have  for  his 
wife.  And  then,  as  the  strains  of  the  first  reel  sounded 
from  the  ballroom,  the  little  group  broke  up. 

Sir  Charles,  with  cool  forethought,  -had  engaged  no 
partner  for  these  next  two  dances,  but  bent  his  steps  up- 
stairs through  the  house  on  an  exploring  expedition. 
He  wandered  through  ladies'  cloak-rooms,  round  halls 
and  narrow  corridors,  finally  discovering  and  descending 
a  steep  flight  of  stairs  that  took  him  down  to  the  first 
floor,  through  a  small  passage,  and  out  of  the  house  into 
the  yard  at  the  back.  This  was  what  he  had  sought. 
The  little  door  was  open,  for  slaves  and  servants  had  been 
passing  in  and  out  of  it  through  the  whole  evening;  and 


216        The  House   of  de  Mailly 


so,  satisfied  in  this  direction,  he  returned  to  the  front  of 
the  house  at  the  close  of  the  third  dance. 

Deborah,  just  finishing  a  round  of  laughter  with  Carle- 
ton  Jennings,  received  Sir  Charles  with  admirable  self- 
possession,  and  they  took  their  place  silently  in  the  set, 
which  was  a  minuet.  It  was  now  that  Fairfield  had  de- 
termined to  set  before  the  girl  his  arrangements  for  the 
evening's  reckless  finale.  Under  cover  of  the  first  slow 
strains  of  music  and  the  first  careful  steps,  he  began : 

"  Have  you  any  partners  after  the  ninth  dance?" 

"No,"  said  Deborah,  steadily,  understanding  him  at 
once. 

"Do  you — know  of  anything  to  come  after  the  ninth 
dance?" 

"No,"  she  replied  again,  in  a  lower  tone. 

"Deborah — have  you  courage  for  an  adventure?" 

They  saluted  each  other  and  gravely  crossed  over. 

"I  have  courage,  Sir  Charles,  if  I  have  the  will." 

"Ah,  Deborah — I  entreat  you  to  gain  the  will  to-night  1" 

"For  what?"  she  asked,  softly. 

"You  know." 

"Say  it." 

"To  become — my  wife." 

Deborah  flushed  scarlet,  and  then  the  color  fled,  leav- 
ing her  deathly  white.  There  was  a  necessary  silence 
between  them,  owing  to  the  dance.  When  they  came 
together  again  her  partner  went  on: 

"  Would  you  fear,  Debby,  to  walk  from  here  to  Mistress 
Vawse's  house  alone  at  midnight?" 

Deborah  looked  at  him  quickly:  "Why  must  I  do 
that?" 

"Listen."  Again  the  courtesy  and  bow,  and  he  contin- 
ued :  "  After  the  seventh  dance — you  are  engaged  to  me 
for  the  eighth  and  ninth — you  must  go  up -stairs,  put 
on  your  cloak  and  hood,  and  leave  the  dressing-room  by 
the  door  that  leads  into  the  hall  at  the  back.  There  I  will 
meet  you  and  conduct  you  down  the  servants'  stairs,  and 
you  can  escape  the  house  by  the  little  door  into  the  yard. 


The   Governor's   Ball  217 

You  know  your  way  round  the  garden  and  out  upon  Church 
Street  From  there  'tis  easy  to  Miriam's." 

"Ah!" 

Fairfield  went  on,  without  heeding  the  faint  exclama- 
tion: "Mistress  Vawse  expects  you.  I  have  seen  her. 
She  will  make  you  comfortable  till  I  come.  I  will  give 
your  excuses  to  Vincent,  telling  him  that  Carroll's  black 
has  taken  you  home  since  you  have — a  headache,  or  a 
torn  ruffle,  or  a  megrim — anything.  I  fancy  he'll  not 
follow  you.  As  soon  as  I  can,  I  will  go  after  you  with 
Rockwell.  At  the  tavern  he  will  marry  us  by  book,  Deb- 
by,  and  after — after  I'll  take  you  to  the  doctor's,  and  all 
will  be  well.  'Tis  not  difficult,  Debby.  Come — you  will 
make  me  live  among  the  gods  to-night?" 

He  pressed  to  her  side  for  the  answer;  but  the  dance 
presently  separated  them  and  she  had  not  given  it.  Deb- 
orah's blood  was  running  fast;  her  head  was  hot,  her 
eyes  brilliant,  her  cheeks  flushed,  none  of  which  things 
would  have  been  had  she  had  no  thought  of  considering 
this  wild  proposition.  Nevertheless,  she  hesitated.  Be- 
come Lady  Fairfield,  and,  some  day,  something  higher? 
She  had  dreamed  of  it,  it  must  be  confessed,  before  she 
ever  suspected  that  such  a  thing  could  actually  be.  She 
had  even  fancied,  long  ago,  that  she  wanted  nothing  more 
than  Sir  Charles;  for,  as  men  went,  he  was,  to  her,  per- 
fection. But  this  idea  had  undergone  a  change,  some 
time  since.  How  long  since?  Did  she  care  to  reckon  the 
days?  Perhaps  they  needed  no  reckoning.  Perhaps 
Deborah  knew  very  well  that  since  the  hour  when  her 
eyes  had  first  met  those  of  Claude  de  Mailly,  Charles  Fair- 
field  had  changed  for  her  forever.  But  Deborah  had  been 
hurt  by  Claude.  She  would  think  of  him  no  more,  after 
that  day  when,  in  the  midst  of  the  thunder-storm,  they 
had  sat  alone  in  Miriam's  tavern,  and  he  had  laid  bare 
before  her  his  life  at  the  Court  of  France.  Claude  de 
Mailly  belonged,  heart  and  soul,  to  another  life.  Here 
was  Sir  Charles,  who  could  give  one  to  her.  Lady  Fair- 
field — Deborah  Fairfield — the  name  pleased  her. 


218         The  House   of  de  Mailly 

"  Debby,  will  you  not  answer?"  came  a  tremulous  whisper 
from  beside  her.  Sir  Charles  was  becoming  anxious. 

All  at  once  she  flung  debate,  prudence,  the  conventions, 
and  —  the  other  man,  alike  away  from  her  in  a  jumbled 
heap,  and  made  reply,  clear,  firm,  unhesitating,  to  his 
question : 

"  Yes,  Sir  Charles.  I  grant  your  wish.  Shall  we  walk 
a  little?" 

A  curious  tone  in  which  to  decide  one's  destiny,  and  a 
curious  choice  of  words  to  express  such  decision.  But 
they  were  within  possible  hearing  now,  and,  besides, 
Deborah  was  peculiar.  The  dance  had  ended  before  she 
spoke,  and  now  they  proceeded  slowly  down  the  room,  side 
by  side,  silent,  save  when  they  stopped  to  answer  some 
remark  from  others.  Neither  of  them  was  ever  after  very 
clear  as  to  how  the  ensuing  hour  passed.  Both  were  with 
other  partners,  surrounded  with  other  forms,  moving, 
passing,  talking,  laughing,  as  though  each  present  moment 
were  supreme.  Only  when,  out  of  the  kaleidoscopic  mass, 
one  caught  an  instant's  glimpse  of  the  other's  figure,  dis- 
tant or  near  at  hand,  a  sudden  heart-thrill  would  reclaim 
them  from  insensibility,  and  thrust  them  once  more  under 
the  warm  shadow  of  that  near-approaching,  veiled  Future, 
that  seemed  to  portend  so  much  to  both. 

In  the  interval  between  the  eighth  and  ninth  dances 
Sir  Charles  again  sought  Deborah,  and  his  manner  ban- 
ished a  lingering  partner  from  her  side.  She  did  not  once 
look  up  as  Fairfield  led  the  way  out  into  the  hall  by  the 
open  card-rooms,  and  then  up  the  distant,  deserted  stair- 
case. 

"You  are  not  afraid?"  he  asked  once. 

She  shook  her  head  with  a  faint  smile;  but  her  hands 
were  cold. 

He  put  her  light  cloth  cape  about  her,  saw  her  tie  a 
small  hood  over  her  powdered  hair,  and  then  he  led  the 
way  into  the  empty  hall  back  of  the  room.  Down  the 
steep  flight  of  stairs  she  glided  before  him,  stopping  at 
last  Before  the  closed  door,  she  less  nervous  than  he. 


The   Governor's   Ball  219 

"You  know  the  way?    Are  you  not  afraid?" 

"The  moon  is  up.     Why  should  I  fear?" 

Without  reply,  he  softly  opened  the  little  door,  and  his 
face  was  very  pale  as  he  bent  over  her:  "You'll  not  fail 
me,  Debby?  I  love  you,  dear." 

She  let  him  take  her  hand.  Then  he  bent  farther  and 
kissed  her  swiftly  on  the  lips,  for  the  first  time.  Her  eyes 
had  looked  into  his  for  one  startled  instant.  Afterwards 
— she  went  forth  into  the  night. 

Fairfield's  heart  was  on  fire  as  he  watched  her  disappear 
down  the  garden  path.  Then  he  closed  the  door,  breathed 
long  and  painfully,  and  made  his  way  back  again  to  the 
ballroom,  with  its  throng  of  dancers,  the  candles  dripping 
wax,  the  musicians  mopping  their  brows,  and  Vincent 
Trevor  and  George  Rockwell  side  by  side  in  the  doorway, 
looking  on  together.  These  Sir  Charles  approached  upon 
his  errand. 

"Ah,  Vincent — "  with  a  very  fair  assumption  of  care- 
lessness— "Deborah  is  gone  home  —  that  is,  to  Dr.  Car- 
roll's." 

Vincent  turned.  He  had  been  watching  Mary  Chase. 
"  Deborah !  Why,  what  for,  Charlie  ?  Surely  you've 
not  been  quarrelling?  She's  not — " 

Sir  Charles  laughed  nervously.  "'Tis  nothing  but  a 
most  vile  headache,  got  from  the  heat  of  the  room  and  too 
much  dancing.  She  wouldn't  have  me  as  escort,  so  I — 
I  sent  one  of  the  house  -  servants  with  her.  She  took  no 
chair,  saying  that  the  walk  in  the  tresh  air  would  benefit 
her.  She  begs  that  you'll  not  disturb  Madam  Trevor  till 
the  cards  are  over." 

"Oh,  very  well.  I'm  sorry,  of  course.  Er — I'm  en- 
gaged for  the  next  dance.  I  leave  Rockwell  to  you." 
And  Vincent  darted  off  abstractedly,  after  a  lively  young 
woman  in  blue  satin,  who  seemed  in  no  particular  need  of 
his  attentions,  being  much  absorbed  in  Will  Paca. 

"Come,  Rockwell,  come;  we  must  hurry — she's  gone!" 
whispered  Fairfield  agitatedly,  pulling  his  companion's 
sleeve. 


220        The  House  of  de  Mailly 

The  rector  stood  still.  "What  the — oh!  Your  young 
one,  eh?  Must  I  come  now?" 

"Of  course.     She's  waiting,  I  say." 

Rockwell,  who  had  not  yet  moved,  turned  on  him  sud- 
denly: "Listen,  Sir  Charles;  if  you  marry  Deborah 
Travis,  I  marry  her  cousin,  Lucy  Trevor  —  you  under- 
stand?" 

"  Deuce  take  it,  man,  marry  whom  you  please — except 
Deborah.  Why  should  I  care?" 

"  You'll  promise  to  take  my  part  to-morrow  against  that 
Puritan,  John  Whitney?" 

"Whatever  you  like,  man.     Come!" 

And  so  the  two  men,  one  still  muttering  Lucy  Trevor's 
name,  the  other  feverishly  anxious  for  the  coming  scene, 
passed  up-stairs,  and  down  again  presently  at  the  back, 
where  they  left  the  Governor's  palace  and  the  ball  behind 
them,  to  follow  in  the  footsteps  of  Deborah  Travis,  tow- 
ards the  ordinary  of  Miriam  Vawse. 


CHAPTER   IX 

The  Rector,  the  Count,  and  Sir  Charles 

HE  day  of  the  Governor's  ball  had  been  a 
dismal  one  for  Claude.  The  few  people 
whom  he  knew  in  the  town  were  all  agog 
over  the  prospect  of  the  evening;  and,  since 
Governor  Bladen  had  not  heard  of  the  resi- 
dence of  the  Count  de  Mailly  within  his  territory,  the 
Count  had  very  naturally  received  no  invitation  to  the 
festivities.  The  hot  day  did  not  tempt  Claude  from  his 
lodging.  He  stayed  alone  in  his  room,  and  in  the  even- 
ing, after  a  solitary  walk,  returned  to  it  again,  turning 
over  an  idea  which  had  been  growing  on  him  for  a  week 
— that  of  leaving  Annapolis.  After  all,  its  people  were 
nothing  to  him.  He  would  move  on,  as  he  should  have 
done  long  before ;  and  the  girl,  Deborah  Travis,  should  oc- 
cupy his  thoughts  no  more.  So  thinking,  with  half  his 
mind  across  the  world,  and  his  heart,  did  he  but  know  it, 
all'  here,  Claude  sat,  watching  the  hours,  dreaming,  as  Fate 
had  him  do,  from  dusk  into  midnight  with  her  moon  and 
stars. 

Down-stairs,  in  the  common  room  of  the  peaceful  or- 
dinary, Miriam  Vawse  also  kept  a  troubled  watch,  for  the 
part  that  she  was  to  play  in  the  approaching  scene  be- 
gan to  appear  to  her  as  very  doubtful  in  wisdom.  As 
she  sat  alone  in  the  warm  night,  beside  her  flickering 
candles,  with  the  hours  running  relentlessly  along, 
fear  began  to  take  possession  of  her.  Half -past  eleven 
struck  from  the  steeple  of  St.  Anne's.  The  moon  was 
making  the  whole  night  luminous.  Up  Charles  Street, 
presently,  a  flying;  shadow  came,  a  dark,  wavering  thing, 


222        The  House   of  de  Mailly 

in  round  hood,  flapping  cape,  and  long,  light,  ruffled 
petticoats  held  up  for  running  about  two  slender  ankles. 
To  the  threshold  of  the  tavern  door  the  shadow  passed, 
and  there  it  halted.  Claude,  in  his  window  above,  saw 
and  wondered,  but  did  not  stir. 

There  was  a  half  inaudible  tap  upon  her  door.  Miriam 
started  and  hearkened,  half  believing  it  her  own  nerves. 
Again  the  tap,  more  faintly  than  before;  but  now  good 
Miriam  ran  to  open  the  door. 

"Good  lack!     Thou'rt  come  then,  Debby!" 

The  hooded  figure  glided  in  and  moved  to  the  table, 
panting  with  the  effects  of  the  long  run. 

"Sit  down — I  will  fetch  some  cordial." 

Deborah  sank  into  a  chair,  threw  off  hood  and  cape, 
and  lifted  a  flushed  face.  When  Miriam  came  to  her  with 
a  cup  of  strong  waters,  she  drank  gratefully,  and  pres- 
ently her  expression  softened  to  a  smile. 

"I'm  here!     I'm  here!     Think  of  it,  Miriam!" 

"  And  you'll  leave  my  door  again  Lady  Fairfield !  Oh, 
Debby,  Debby,  is  it  right?  Art  sure  I've  done  no  wrong?" 

"Oh,  if  there's  any  wrong,  Miriam,  'tis  mine."  She 
was  still  for  a  moment,  and  then  remarked:  "Cousin 
Virginia  was  to  marry  him." 

"I  know.     Madam  told  me  long  since." 

"But  he  only  asked  for  her  two  days  ago  —  that  is, 
madam  and  Vincent  made  him.  And  then — and  then—" 

"Then  he  told  you,"  put  in  Miriam,  glowing  with  ro- 
mance. 

"But  where  can  he  be?  He  was  to  come  directly.  He 
vowed  he'd  be  here  at  once  with  George  Rockwell.  Oh, 
Miriam!  If  he  shouldn't  come!" 

"Lord!  How  can  you  think  of  such  things!"  cried 
Mistress  Vawse,  hurrying  to  the  window.  Deborah  fol- 
lowed her  nervously. 

"I'm  sure  he'll  not  come!"  she  cried,  in  sudden  despair. 

"  He'll  come.  He'll  come.  Now  sit  down  again  quietly. 
There.  That's  comfortable.  And  so  you  love  him  dear- 
ly. How  long  has  it  been?  All  the  summer?  D'ye 


Rector,   Count,  and    Sir    Charles    223 


know,  Debby,  once  I  thought  'twasn't  Sir  Charles.  I 
didn't  know.  I  thought  'twas  him." 

Mistress  Vawse  swept  her  thumb  mysteriously  upward 
towards  the  stairs.  Suddenly  into  Deborah's  cheeks 
rose  two  vivid  spots  of  color.  She  made  no  answer  to 
'  he  woman's  questions.  'But,  indeed,  there  was  not  time 
now.  Footsteps  were  halting  at  the  threshold,  and  there 
came  a  light,  masculine  tap  at  the  door.  Miriam  flew  to 
open  it.  Deborah  rose  unsteadily.  Fairfield  and  Rockwell 
together  entered  the  room. 

Sir  Charles  went  quickly  to  the  girl's  side,  while  the  rec- 
tor stayed  behind  to  say  a  few  words  to  Mistress  Vawse, 
who  was  an  ardent  parishioner  of  his.  Deborah  remained 
passive  as  her  lover  caressingly  lifted  her  hand  to  his  lips, 
and  looked  at  her  with  deep-seated  feeling. 

"Miss  Travis,  permit  me  to  salute  you  for  the  second 
time  this  evening,  and  to  congratulate  you  upon  such  a 
prospect  of  romantic  happiness  as  is  now  opening  to  your 
vision,"  remarked  Rockwell,  with  his  most  Johnsonian 
air,  as  he  came  forward. 

"Since  it  is  in  your  power  alone  to  bestow  that  happi- 
ness, George,  let  us,  for  God's  sake,  be  about  it!"  ex- 
claimed Fairfield,  in  a  passionately  low  voice. 

Three  members,  at  least,  of  the  little  party  were  grow- 
ing extremely  nervous.  Deborah's  courage,  which  had 
borne  her  in  perfect  quiet  so  far,  was  beginning  to  falter. 
Sir  Charles  was  unreasonably  fearful  of  some  interruption. 
Miriam  Vawse  was  in  the  same  plight,  her  eyes  being  fixed 
continually  on  the  fast-barred  door.  Rockwell  alone  was 
quite  at  his  ease. 

"Now  then,  Mistress  Vawse,  another  candle  or  two. 
Charles  will  stand  the  expense ;  for  I  vow  I  must  have  light 
enough  to  tell  the  lady  from  her  husband." 

Deborah  quivered  at  the  last  word,  which,  indeed,  Rock- 
well had  thrown  at  her. 

There  was  a  dead  silence  as  Miriam  placed  three  more 
candles  on  the  table,  and  lit  them  at  the  flame  of  the  first. 
Then  the  clergyman  took  from  one  of  the  pockets  of  his 


224        The   House   of   de   Mailly 

coat  the  prayer-book,  and  motioned  the  two  to  move  back 
a  little  towards  the  empty  fireplace.  Deborah's  heart  had 
almost  stopped  beating,  and  her  throat  was  so  strained  that 
she  could  not  have  spoken  a  word.  Sir  Charles,  taking 
her  arm,  gently  drew  her  to  his  side,  and  looked  to  Rock- 
well, who  stood  in  front  of  them.  He  began  to  speak 
softly,  omitting  not  a  word  of  the  service,  even  the  ad- 
dress to  the  people  assembled,  now  solely  represented  by 
Mistress  Vawse,  who  was  supporting  herself  against  the 
table. 

" '  Dearly  beloved,  we  are  gathered  here  together  in  the 
sight  of  God—' " 

"Oh!"  cried  Sir  Charles,  with  a  sudden  start,  "we  were 
to  have  had  another  fellow — a  witness — that  de  Mailly — 
don't  you  know,  George?" 

"I  am  here,"  came  in  a  low  tone  from  the  stairs. 

"Lord!"  cried  Mistress  Vawse,  on  the  verge  of  collapse. 

Four  pairs  of  startled  eyes  were  lifted  to  where  Claude, 
who  had  heard  the  sound  of  voices  in  his  room  and  started 
to  come  down  to  learn  more  of  the  midnight  arrivals,  had 
halted  in  his  descent,  Rockwell's  words  in  his  ears. 

After  the  sharp  pause,  the  rector  was  first  to  speak: 
"Well,  now  that  he's  here,  we'll  go  on.  Come  down,  sir, 
and  be  witness  to  this  marriage." 

Claude  was  very  white  as  he  replied,  with  his  slight 
accent:  "I  will  remain  here.  I  can  see  and  hear  quite 
perfectly,  if  I  am  necessary." 

"Go  on,  then!  Go  on!"  cried  Sir  Charles,  wiping  his 
brow. 

"  '  — and  in  the  face  of  this  company  to  join  together  this 
man  and — ' ' 

"No— no— stop!" 

In  amazement,  Rockwell  obeyed  the  huskily  whispered 
command.  It  was  from  Deborah,  and  Deborah  now,  her 
cheeks  feverishly  flushed,  eyes  brilliant,  lips  parted,  and 
breath  quickened,  moved,  as  if  drawn  by  magnetism,  from 
Fairfield's  side  to  the  stairs.  After  a  moment  of  confused 
silence,  Fairfield  said,  with  unnatural  calm: 


Rector,   Count,  and   Sir    Charles    225 

"  What  is  it,  Deborah?    Come  back." 

"No." 

"Comeback." 

"No." 

"Don't  you  understand?  What  is  the  matter?  What 
are  you  doing?" 

"  I — I'll  not  marry  you." 

"Deborah!" 

After  that  cry  from  Fairfield  there  was  silence.  The 
rector,  Sir  Charles,  and  Miriam  Vawse  stood  as  if  petri- 
fied, staring  at  the  girl,  who  faced  them  with  quiet,  dogged 
resolution  written  in  her  face.  Claude,  from  the  stairs, 
looked  down  upon  her,  scarcely  surprised,  perhaps,  but  with 
a  very  gentle  light  in  his  eyes.  His  deliberate  descent  into 
the  room  was  the  first  move  made  by  any  one.  Going  over 
to  Rockwell's  side,  he  laid  a  finger  on  the  clergyman's  arm : 

"  This  wedding — it  is — what  you  call — legal?" 

"Perfectly!"  snapped  Rockwell,  in  anger. 

"There's  no  license,"  remarked  Deborah,  slowly. 

"  Indeed,  Miss  Travis,  I  protest — it  isn't  necessary.  This 
is  perfectly  legal.  It  is  customary — quite  customary.  You 
will  have  the  oaths  of  two  witnesses ;  though,  indeed,  with 
Sir  Charles's  honor,  those  are  not  needed.  Let  us  go  en 
at  once." 

"  Sure  you  must  go  on  now,  Miss  Debby.  Think  of  the 
timeo'  night!" 

"Come — come,  child,"  and  Fairfield  started  towards  her, 
with  a  little  gleam  of  anger  in  his  eyes. 

Deborah  shrank  back  against  the  stairs;  but,  lo!  with 
an  adroit  movement,  Claude  was  at  her  side,  with  evident 
intention  of  interposing. 

"You  shall  not  use  force,"  he  remarked,  quietly. 

"  — T  —  you !  You  French  hound !  Out  of  my  way !  I'll 
have  you  know  your  place!" 

"I  am  aware  of  my  place,  Sir  Charles  Fairfield."     He 
stepped  quickly  in  front  of  Deborah.     "  If  this  lady  is  forced 
into  any  action  contrary  to  her  desire,  it  shall  be  because 
my  sword  is  broken." 
15 


226         The  House   of  de  Mailly 

There  was  barely  a  second's  pause,  then  came  a  little 
whipping  sound  as  two  blades  were  drawn.  Claude  sprang 
on  guard  as  Fairfield  lunged.  There  was  a  flash  of  steel. 
The  Frenchman  made  the  riposte,  and  his  sword  just  pierced 
the  white  ruffled  shirt  of  his  opponent,  breaking  the  skin. 
The  lieutenant  paid  no  attention  to  it.  De  Mailly  returned 
into  tierce,  and  parried  the  second  attack  with  immaculate 
grace.  Rockwell,  his  eyes  wide  with  interest,  dropped  his 
book  and  came  over  to  watch  the  duel.  It  did  not  endure, 
however.  After  Sir  Charles'  third  unsuccessful  attempt 
to  break  the  French  guard,  he  felt  his  sword-blade  seized, 
lifted,  and  himself  pushed  back.  Claude's  blade  dropped. 
Deborah  had  taken  command  of  the  situation.  Drawing 
Sir  Charles'  sword  out  of  his  passive  hand,  she  gave  it  to 
Miriam  Vawse,  who  had  sunk  into  a  chair,  on  the  verge  of 
hysteria.  In  helpless  amazement  she  received  the  rapier, 
finding  strength  nevertheless  to  rise  and  go  with  it  towards 
the  stairs  as  Deborah  spoke  to  her  in  whispered  impera- 
tive. Presently,  then,  Deborah  was  alone  with  the  rector, 
the  Count,  and  Sir  Charles.  All  three  paid  tribute  to  her 
supremacy  with  expectant  silence.  Fairfield  was  sunk  in 
desperate  dejection,  Rockwell  merely  amazed,  Claude  men- 
tally reeling,  for  the  horizon  of  his  life  was  changed.  It  was 
a  blank  no  longer.  Many  things  were  taking  shape  upon 
it.  He  was  prepared,  when  Deborah  took  two  or  three 
hesitating  steps  towards  him,  and  said,  in  a  half-whisper : 

"  I  must  go  back — to  Dr.  Carroll's.     Will  you — take  me?" 

With  a  glad  light  in  his  face,  he  came  at  once  to  her 
side.  "I  thank  you,  mademoiselle,  for  the  honor  you 
offer  me.  My  life  is  yours." 

"  Let  us  go,  then,"  she  said,  her  voice  low  and  trembling 
dangerously. 

Suddenly  Charles  Fairfield  rushed  forward  and,  seizing 
both  her  hands,  fell  upon  his  knees.  "  Deborah!  Deborah! 
Deborah!  I  love  you !  In  the  name  of  God  Almighty,  give 
me  some  hope!  I  meant  everything  honestly — honorably 
— do  you  hear?  The  marriage  would  have  been  legal. 
Rockwell  will  swear  that  to  you.  What  right  have  you — 


Rector,   Count,  and   Sir  Charles    227 

Debby !  Debby,  you  promised !  Is  it  true  that  you  don't 
care?" 

Deborah  drew  away  from  him  as  far  as  she  could.  Her 
face  was  drawn  and  weary,  and  no  light  in  her  eyes  an- 
swered his  entreaties.  Claude,  who  had  watched  her 
narrowry,  now  interposed.  Grasping  the  other's  hands, 
he  forced  them,  with  a  single  twist,  from  Deborah's  help- 
less ones,  and  then,  with  that  kind  of  brute  strength  that 
comes  to  all  men  at  times,  he  lifted  the  Englishman  bodily 
to  his  feet,  thrust  him  back,  took  Deborah  gently  about  the 
waist,  and  carried  her  to  the  door.  Opening  it,  he  turned 
around.  Miriam  Vawse,  from  the  stairway,  saw  his  face 
as  she  had  never  beheld  it  before,  white,  set,  triumphant, 
his  greenish  eyes  blazing  like  jewels  as  he  cried  out  to 
Fairfield,  who  was  stiff  with  fury : 

"We  will  meet — where  you  like,  when  you  like,  how 
you  like,  but  not  in  the  presence  of  ladies,  monsieur." 

The  door  closed,  and  Claude  and  Deborah  were  alone 
together  in  the  still,  white  moonlight.  She  walked  her- 
self, now,  only  clinging  fast  to  his  arm,  and  trembling 
with  the  strain  of  the  long  evening.  They  were  half- 
way to  the  doctor's  before  either  spoke.  Then  Deborah 
whispered,  just  audibly: 

"You  must  not  fight — for  me.     I  am  not  worthy." 

"I  have  fought  for  far  slighter  things  than  this.  But 
do  not  be  alarmed.  There  will  not  be  much  blood  shed." 

Deborah  shuddered,  but  was  silent.  She  longed  unut- 
terably to  try  to  justify  herself  to  this  man,  to  explain  the 
reason  for  her  behavior ;  and,  as  if  divining  her  thought,  he 
presently  asked,  quietly : 

"How,  mademoiselle,  did  you  come  to  do  this  thing? 
Do  you  love  this  Sir  Charles?  Did  you  think  of  the  im- 
prudence?" 

Suddenly  all  thoughts  but  one  fled  from  her.  This  one 
she  voiced  with  quick  eagerness :  "  1  do  not  love  Sir 
Charles !  Indeed — indeed — believe  me — I  do  not  love  him/' 

Instinctively  Claude's  arm  tightened  upon  hers,  but 
he  said  no  more.  He  was  too  chivalrous  a  man  to  take 


228         The  House   of  de  Mailly 

any  advantage  of  the  time,  the  place,  and  their  solitude. 
Deborah  waited  vainly  for  a  word  from  him.  When  at 
last  they  stood  at  the  doctor's  gate,  she  whispered : 

"  I'll  go  in  alone.  1 — can't  thank  you  to-night.  Good- 
bye." 

One  hand  of  hers  he  took,  and  the  moonlight  and  the 
woodbine  kissed  each  other  as  he  touched  it  to  his  lips. 

"Good-night/'  he  said.  And  then,  without  more,  he 
let  her  go,  saw  her  pass  up  to  the  door,  in  her  pale  dress 
and  light  cloak,  with  hooded  head  bent  low.  He  heard 
her  knock,  and  presently  saw  the  door  opened  by  a  sleepy 
servant.  Then  he  turned  away,  back  towards  the  tavern 
of  Miriam  Vawse. 

Deborah  felt  no  nervousness  on  entering  the  doctor's 
house.  It  had  not  occurred  to  her  to  dread  lest  the  family 
had  returned  from  the  ball.  In  point  of  fact,  the  last  reel 
was,  at  this  moment,  just  beginning  at  the  palace.  The 
doctor's  slave,  therefore,  received  the  young  lady  in  dull 
surprise. 

"I  had  a  headache,  Jeremiah,"  she  explained,  faintly. 
"I  came  home — with  one  of  the  Governor's  house-blacks. 
Where's  the  candle?" 

"  Heah,  Miss  Travis.     Yo'  want  su'th'n  t'  eat,  p'haps?" 

"  Oh  yes,  yes,  Jerry.  Send  Leah  up  with  a  cup  of  posset 
and  some  bread.  That 'sail." 

"Yes'm.  Lor!  Yo'  done  got  headache  fo'  shuah!" 
he  muttered,  watching  the  candle  that  she  held  shake 
so  that  the  flame  was  endangered,  as  she  passed  up  the 
stairs  to  bed. 


CHAPTER  X 

Puritan  and  Courtier 

HAT  time  was  it  when  you  reached  home  last 
night,  Deborah?"  asked  Madam  Trevor. 

The  doctor,  his  sisters,  and  their  guests 
were  seated  at  a  very  late  breakfast,  of  which 
extremely  little  was  being  eaten. 

Deborah  looked  uncomfortable  at  the  bald  directness 
of  the  question.  Being  under  no  suspicious  eye,  how- 
ever, she  dropped  an  hour,  and  was  able  to  reply,  with 
some  nonchalance:  "About  twelve,  I  believe,  madam. 
Really — my  head — I'm  not  quite  certain  about  the  time." 

Lucy  nodded  sympathetically :  "  Indeed,  Debby,  if  your 
head  then  was  like  mine  now — " 

"You  will  not  complain  of  your  health  in  this  manner, 
before  us  all.  It  is  most  unladylike!"  said  Madam  Trevor, 
sharply. 

Lucy  quivered  and  shrank  into  silence.  She  was  in 
the  highest  disfavor  with  her  mother  this  morning,  and 
only  too  well  did  she  know  why.  Aching  head  or  not, 
there  was  an  ordeal  ahead  of  her  for  the  afternoon,  to 
endure  which  she  was  inwardly  praying  for  strength,  but 
over  which  she  was  in  reality  desperate.  If  Rockwell 
appeared  at  the  plantation,  as  he  had  vowed  to  do,  with 
Madam  Trevor  still  in  this  morning's  mood,  poor  Lucy 
knew  that  John  Whitney's  fate  and  hers  hung  in  a  hope- 
less balance.  And  there  was  no  one  to  whom  she  could 
look  for  help.  Virginia  and  Deborah  would  be  very  kind, 
but  neither  of  them  could  bring  any  opposition  to  her 
mother's  intention.  Of  Vincent  she  did  not  think  at  all. 
Had  she  done  so,  it  would  have  been  merely  to  add  a  new 


230        The  House   of  de  Mailly 

despair;  for  to  consider  Vincent  as  her  ally  against  his 
mother  was  impossible  on  the  face  of  it.  So  little  Lucy 
reasoned,  dolefully,  through  the  meal,  till  her  attention 
was  caught  by  Vincent's  question: 

"  Where's  Charles,  doctor — Fairneld,  I  mean?  I  haven't 
seen  him  since  we  were  dancing  last  night." 

"Sir  Charles  is  not  in  the  house,"  replied  the  doctor, 
with  a  quick  glance  at  Virginia,  whose  face  was  perfectly 
passive. 

"Not  in  the  house!     Why — what  has  happened?" 

"Oh,  very  little,  I  fancy.  Last  night,  as  we  came  up 
Church  Street,  I  saw  him  with  Rockwell  at  the  door  of  the 
'Three  Blue  Balls.'  He  was  probably  about  to  celebrate 
his  happiness.  Young  men,  you  know." 

Vincent's  face  grew  dark.  "Pretty  ways  for  Rock- 
well," he  muttered;  and  St.  Quentin,  whose  eye  was  upon 
him,  nodded  slightly. 

Lucy  took  sudden  heart,  but  was  wise  enough  not  to 
look  up  till  her  mother,  much  displeased,  rose  from  the 
table,  and  so  ended  the  meal. 

"Mistress  Lettice,  we  will  not  trespass  longer  on  your 
hospitality,  for  which  we  are  vastly  indebted.  I  have  or- 
dered the  coach  for  eleven.  You,  Vincent,  at  least,  will 
ride  with  us?" 

Her  son  bowed  courteously,  and  presently  disappeared 
into  the  doctor's  study,  where  he  took  the  liberty  of  making 
use  of  his  host's  desk  for  a  few  moments.  Upon  finishing 
his  note  he  carried  it  out  to  the  deserted  dining-room, 
where  Jeremiah  was  clearing  the  table. 

"  Jerry,  can  you  do  an  errand  for  me  this  morning — no, 
at  once?" 

"Fo'  shuah,  Mist'  Trev',  if  Doc'  Ca'l  '11  let  me  go." 

"I'll  explain  that  I  sent  you  off.  Here's  a  note  to  be 
taken  round  to  the  cottage  that  Mr.  John  Whitney  lives 
in.  He's  a  Puritan  parson.  His  house  is  just  on  the 
other  side  of  the  Gloucester  Street  bridge.  Give  him  this 
note,  Jerry,  and  here's  a  shilling  for  some  extra  tobacco, 
if  you  get  it  to  him  by  eleven  o'clock.  Understand?" 


Puritan   and  Courtier  231 

"Ye-ah!  He'll  get  it  's  mo'n  fo'  shuah.  Thanks, 
Mist'  Trev'." 

Showing  all  his  glistening  teeth,  the  negro  pocketed 
the  coin,  which  no  slave  was  supposed  to  possess,  and, 
leaving  his  work  unfinished,  departed  at  once  on  the  very 
welcome  errand  which  served  to  let  him  out  of  the  house 
for  an  hour  into  the  August  sunshine. 

Vincent  found  the  doctor  in  the  hall,  and  lightly  touched 
his  arm:  "I  have  sent  your  black,  Jerry,  on  an  errand, 
Carroll.  It  was  important,  or  I  shouldn't  have  presumed. 
You'll  pardon  me?" 

"  My  dear  Vincent,  while  you  are  with  me  my  house  is 
yours.  Don't  speak  of  it.  So  soon,  madam?  This  is  a 
niggardly  visit,  I  vow!" 

Carroll  hurried  forward  as  Madam  Trevor  entered  the 
hall.  She  had  just  come  down,  the  three  young  women 
behind  her,  each  carrying  a  package  containing  her  party 
finery  and  night  garments.  The  coach  and  Vincent's  rid- 
ing-horse were  already  at  the  door.  After  a  chorus  of  fare- 
wells and  acknowledgments  of  hospitality,  the  ladies  were 
finally  settled  in  the  roomy  vehicle,  which  set  off  in  a  whirl 
of  dust  down  Gloucester  Street.  On  their  way  through  the 
town  they  passed  the  door  of  the  "  Blue  Balls  "  tavern, 
and  madam  bit  her  lip. 

"Virginia,  be  assured  that  I  shall  speak  to  Charles  when 
he  returns.  It  is  disgraceful,  it  is  abominable,  this  be- 
havior on  the  very  night  of  his  engagement  to  you.  You 
may  be  certain  that  it  shall  not  go  unnoticed." 

For  an  instant  Virginia's  lip  curled  scornfully.  Then 
all  the  former  indifference  came  back  again  to  her  face. 
She  made  no  reply  to  her  mother's  words,  but,  as  they  con- 
tinued on  their  way,  some  other  train  of  thought  brought 
a  new  expression  to  her  fine  features — an  expression  of  re- 
signed sorrow,  of  hidden  suffering,  of  strong  repression, 
that  her  mother  did  not  see,  and  could  not  have  read 
even  had  she  noticed  it.  The  rest  of  the  drive  was  silent. 
Madam  Trevor,  seated  beside  Virginia,  was  very  firm  of  lip, 
very  straight  of  shoulder,  very  immovable  as  to  hands. 


232         The  House   of  de  Mailly 

Lucy  and  Deborah,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  coach,  had 
no  desire  to  indulge  in  the  usual  ball  reminiscences  com- 
mon to  young  girls.  One  of  them  was  anxious-eyed  and 
pale  with  foreboding ;  the  other  sat  motionless,  eyes  closed, 
face  unreadable,  but  enduring  such  inward  tumult  as  none, 
seeing  her,  could  have  conceived. 

At  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  of  that  same  Thursday 
a  man  on  foot  crossed  the  narrow  bridge  over  the  inlet  at 
the  end  of  Prince  George  Street,  and  started  up  the  country 
road  that  led  along  the  left  bank  of  the  Severn.  The  day 
was  intensely  hot,  the  white  dust  inches  deep,  and  what 
wind  blew  at  all  was  from  the  west,  a  mere  breath  of  parch- 
ing grass  and  thirsting  prairie  lands.  The  man,  however, 
was  not  thinking  of  heat.  His  face  showed  very  plainly 
that  his  mind  was  some  distance  away,  and  that  it  was 
fixed  on  a  subject  of  deep  import  to  him.  His  prim  black 
suit  grew  gray  with  sand,  his  immaculate  queue  flopped 
limply  on  his  shoulder,  his  face  was  damp  with  perspira- 
tion, his  very  eyebrows  were  ruffled  by  the  vigorous  mop- 
ping which  he  now  and  then  gave  his  forehead.  Never- 
theless, oblivious  of  discomfort,  John  Whitney  plodded  on 
his  way  towards  the  Trevor  plantation,  his  eyes  on  the 
road,  his  hope  in  the  clouds.  For  the  first  time  he  was 
treading  this  well-known  path  with  an  untroubled  con- 
science. He  was  going  to  Lucy  openly,  not  even  of  his 
own  planning,  but  at  the  request  of  Lucy's  brother,  whose 
courteous  note  of  invitation  lay  hot  under  his  vest,  next  to 
the  homespun  linen  shirt  which  it  was  his  pleasure  to  wear. 

Whitney  was  within  five  minutes  of  his  destination,  al- 
ready visible  above  the  trees  round  the  little  bend  in  the 
shore,  when  the  sound  of  wheels  rapidly  approaching  from 
behind  him  caused  him  hastily  to  mount  the  bank  at  the 
side  of  the  road.  A  caleche,  drawn  by  two  horses  and  con- 
taining a  man  garbed  in  shining  pink  satin,  flashed  by 
in  a  whirl  of  dust,  and  presently  turned  in  at  the  road  lead- 
ing to  the  Trevor  house.  Whitney  pursed  his  lips,  stared 
a  little,  and  moved  on  again. 


Puritan  and   Courtier  233 

Claude,  in  his  court  costume  and  hired  vehicle,  stopping 
at  the  door  of  Deborah's  home,  found  Jim,  the  stable-boy, 
white-eyed  and  open-mouthed  with  amazement  at  his  dress, 
waiting  to  receive  him  and  to  fetch  water  for  the  horses. 

"  I  am  seeking  Mr.  Trevor — and — madame,"  said  Claude, 
on  the  step  of  the  portico. 

"  Yes,  sah ;  ef  you'll  walk  right  in,  sah — dey's  right — " 

" M.  de  Mailly !  You  honor  us,  sir!"  Vincent,  who  had 
witnessed  the  arrival,  appeared  from  the  hall  and  came 
hastily  out  to  meet  his  guest.  His  astonishment  at  such 
a  costume  as  he  had  never  before,  even  in  England,  be- 
held, was,  perhaps,  visible  in  his  face ;  but  if  Claude  per- 
ceived it  he  said  nothing. 

"Come  inside,  will  you  not?  The  heat  is  great  to-day. 
We — Rockwell  is  here,"  explained  the  host,  in  a  slightly 
disconcerted  .tone.  He  was  expecting  another  visitor,  and 
de  Mailly's  arrival  was  ill-timed. 

"Thank  you,"  responded  Claude,  still  suavely  oblivious, 
and  flicking  some  dust  from  his  sleeve  with  an  enormous 
lace-bordered  handkerchief. 

Side  by  side  they  entered  the  hall,  wherein,  all  very  stiff 
as  to  appearance,  and  even  more  uncomfortable  in  ex- 
pression, sat  Madam  Trevor,  Lucy,  Virginia,  and  George 
Rockwell.  There  was  the  usual  series  of  salutations,  fol- 
lowed by  a  pause  so  heavy,  so  unbreakable,  that  Claude 
flushed.  He  glanced  at  the  rector,  to  find  that  gentleman 
glaring  at  him  with  a  mixture  of  intense  apprehension  and 
extreme  anger.  Madam  Trevor  looked  infinitely  annoyed, 
and  her  lips  were  firmly  set.  Lucy,  dull,  mute,  motionless, 
was  pathetically  hopeless.  Finally,  Virginia,  with  a  kind 
of  dry  humor,  set  herself  to  save  the  situation. 

"Perhaps,  M.  de  Mailly,"  she  said,  "you  come  as  suitor 
for  my  sister  Lucy's  hand?" 

Claude  turned  to  her  quickly :  "  I  have  not  that  honor, 
Miss  Trevor.  I  had,  indeed,  understood  that  3^our  sister 
was  already — um — bespoken.  I  came  to  ask  of  Mr. 
Trevor  that  I  may  pay  my  addresses  to  Miss  Travis." 

"Deborah!"  cried  both  Lucy  and  her  mother. 


234        The  House   of  de  Mailly 

Rockwell  breathed,  a  sweat  broke  gently  upon  his  brow, 
and  all  danger  of  spontaneous  combustion  was  happily  at 
an  end. 

"Deborah,  madame,"  repeated  Claude,  quietly. 

At  the  same  moment  a  dusty  figure  ascended  the  portico 
steps  and  came  presently  into  the  hall.  At  sight  of  him 
Lucy  grew  pink,  Rockwell  purple,  and  Virginia  Trevor 
very  white.  Madam  bridled  as  she  saw  her  son  grasp  the 
"Puritan"  cordially  by  the  hand,  and  Claude  glanced 
rapidly  over  the  face  and  figure,  which  were  not  unlike  his 
own. 

John  Whitney  looked  measuredly  round  the  circle,  greet- 
ed his  rival  with  perfect  imperturbability,  sent  a  long  glance 
into  Lucy's  eyes,  and  profoundly  saluted  Madam  Trevor, 
who  returned  the  bow  with  the  barest  inclination  of  her 
head.  Then  Vincent  spoke : 

"  M.  de  Mailly,  let  me  make  you  known  to  the  Reverend 
Mr.  Whitney,  of  Boston.  Gentlemen,  you  are  here  on  like 
errands.  'Tis  a  curious  thing.  Perhaps — it  were  as  well 
to  settle  all,  here,  at  once." 

"I  protest,  sir!"  cried  Rockwell,  jumping  up.  "The 
present  matter  lies  between  Mistress  Lucy,  Master  Whitney, 
and  myself.  I  vow  no  stranger  shall  be  in  it!" 

" The  Count  de  Mailly  is  no  stranger,  sir!"  returned  Vin- 
cent. "  He  has  announced  his  intention,  without  hesitancy, 
before  you.  I  see  no  objection  to  his  learning  that  you  and 
that  gentleman  are  rivals  for  the  hand  of  my  sister  Lucy, 
and  that  you  are  here  to-day  in  order  that  the  affair  be 
decided  once  for  all." 

"I  cannot  see  any  necessity  for  discussion,  Vincent. 
Lucy  is  promised  to  Mr.  Rockwell.  Mr. — Whitney  has 
nothing  to  do  with  the  affair,"  observed  Madam  Trevor, 
rather  insolently. 

The  controversy  being  now  open,  Claude  was,  for  the 
moment,  forgotten. 

"  Madam,  I  crave  pardon,  but  Mr.  Whitney  has  just  this  to 
do  with  the  matter.  It  appears,  from  all  I  have  heard,  that 
Lucy  herself  does  not  care  for  Mr.  Rockwell  as  she  should 


Puritan   and   Courtier  235 

care  for  the  man  she  marries.  Also — I  believe — she  does 
so  care  for  Mr.  Whitney." 

"  Let  me  ask,  Mr.  Whitney,  what  means  you  have  at  your 
disposal  for  this  young  lady's  support?  How  many  slaves 
have  you?  How — 

"  1  have  no  slaves  at  all,  Mr.  Rockwell,  being  a  Chris- 
tian!" retorted  Whitney,  forgetting  himself  for  an  instant. 
Then,  after  an  ominous  little  pause,  he  remarked,  in  an- 
other tone:  "1  crave  your  pardon.  1  have  one  hundred 
pounds  a  year  from  my  parish,  and  something  laid  by. 
It  is  quite  true  that  I  cannot  give  Mistress  Lucy  a  home 
like  this ;  but  1  will  engage  to  keep  her  always  housed  from 
God's  weather,  well  shielded  from  cold,  and  with  enough 
to  eat — if  not  of  the  finest,  at  least  of  such  as  should  satisfy 
her,  provided  it  be  served  with  the  sauce  of  sweet  content. 
Moreover — I  will  take  no  dower  with  my  wife." 

At  this  last  Claude  opened  his  eyes  widely,  Rockwell 
looked  put  out,  and  Madam  Trevor  glanced  at  the  speaker 
with  a  new  expression. 

Vincent,  turning  from  the  Puritan  with  the  barest  smile 
at  his  earnestness,  addressed  his  rival:  "And  you, 
George  Rockwell — what  have  you?" 

Rockwell  cleared  his  throat,  and  rose  as  if  he  were  to 
speak  from  the  pulpit:  "My  income  from  St.  Anne's 
is,  I  confess  without  mortification,  no  greater  than  that 
which  this  gentleman — um — ah — has  just  said  to  be  his 
portion  from  the  meeting-house.  My  fees  and  perquisites 
as  Church  of  England  clergyman,  however,  make  the 
sum  far  larger  annually.  I  think  also  that  you,  madam, 
and  Mistress  Lucy,  will  recognize  the  difference  between 
the — to  speak  gently — the  somewhat  humble  abode  of 
Mr.  Whitney  and  the  rectory  which  I  myself  have  the 
honor  to  occupy,  and  where  I  am  accustomed  to  entertain 
his  excellency  himself." 

"Pardon  me,  sir,  but  could  you  indeed  imagine  that, 
after  my  marriage,  I  should  not  instantly  remove  to  an 
abode  more  suited  than  my  present  one  to  a  lady's  con- 
venience? Do  you  imagine — " 


236         The  House   of  de  Mailly 

"  You  interrupt,  sir.  I  make  no  observations  on  what 
your  conduct  will  be.  I  am  only  aware  of  what  it  is." 

"It  is,  sir,  so  far  as  I  am  aware,  irreproachable!" 

"  Come,  come,  gentlemen,"  interposed  Vincent,  in  some 
displeasure,  "we  wander  from  the  subject.  You — a — 
have  not  spoken  of  dower,  Rockwell.  Of  course,  my  sister, 
being  of  our  family,  would  not  lack  suitable  outfit  and 
settlement  on  entering  a  new  estate.  Still — " 

"I  was  sure,"  interrupted  Rockwell,  hastily,  for  the 
point  was  delicate — "  I  was  sure  that  you  would  regard  it 
as  well — nay,  might  as  a  pride  consider  it  indispensable, 
Vincent,  that— 

"Stop!  Let  me  go  away."  Lucy  had  risen,  quiver- 
ing, to  her  feet,  her  mild  eyes  blazing,  her  voice  low  and 
unnatural.  "I  will  not  be  bargained  for,  bought  and 
sold,  as  slaves  or  horses  are.  Vincent,  you  have  insulted 
me  by  permitting  such  a  scene.  And  you — "  turning 
to  Whitney  and  Rockwell — "you  are  heartless  and  soul- 
less. Love!  What  do  you  know  of  that?" 

She  turned,  with  Virginia  at  her  side,  and,  not  looking 
again  at  any  one  in  the  room,  swept  away  towards  the  west 
wing.  As  her  daughter  departed,  Madam  Trevor  rose  un- 
decidedly, then  reseated  herself,  with  a  new  and  firm  in- 
tention of  having  more  to  say  in  the  forthcoming  battle 
than  she  had  had  heretofore.  Three  of  the  men,  Vincent 
and  the  rivals,  were  staring  at  each  other,  Whitney  and 
Trevor  in  mortification,  Rockwell  merely  in  surprise. 

"Egad!"  murmured  Vincent,  softly,  "the  little  girl  was 
right." 

"  I  apologize  to  you,  Mr.  Trevor,  and  to  Mistress  Lucy, 
for  my  utterly  thoughtless  and  discourteous  behavior," 
cried  Whitney.  "  Indeed,  I  was  thoughtless  and  unfeeling. 
I  most  painfully  acknowledge  that  your  sister's  anger 
became  the  situation." 

"Oh — the  lady  was  piqued,  sir,  at  your  lack  of  worldly 
goods,"  observed  Rockwell,  with  a  grin  of  ingenuous  conceit. 

Claude  regarded  the  man  with  languid  disgust.  Vincent 
flushed  angrily,  and  Madam  Trevor  rose. 


Puritan   and  Courtier  237 

"We  waste  time,  gentlemen,"  she  said.  "It  is  perfectly 
fitting  that  these  matters  should  form  part  of  the  discus- 
sion. For  my  part,  Mr.  Rockwell,  I  am  entirely  with  you. 
1  wish  my  daughter  to  marry  you,  since  1  believe  you  com- 
petent of  caring  for  her  as  should  be.  As  to  the  settle- 
ments, of  course — " 

"Pardon  me,  madam,  but  this  is  quite  useless, " inter- 
rupted Vincent,  coming  forward,  with  the  light  of  sudden 
resolve  in  his  eyes.  "  You  are  aware  that  once  before  this 
matter  has  been  most  unsatisfactorily  decided  in  this  way. 
My  sister  has  continually  denied  your  statement  that  she 
was  affianced  to  Mr.  Rockwell,  and  1  have  been  led  to 
believe  that  it  was  through  her  attachment  to  Mr.  Whit- 
ney, who  some  time  since  honorably  professed  to  me  his 
love  for  her.  As  legal  head  of  this  house,  then,  1  cannot 
feel  it  otherwise  than  just  to  insist  that  my  sister  herself, 
and  none  other,  shall  choose  between  these  two;  and  I 
now  say  that  it  shall  be  entirely  without  consideration 
of  dower,  settlement,  or — perquisite.  Further,  I  maintain 
that,  if  Lucy  choose  to  reject  both  of  these  gentlemen,  of 
her  own  free  will,  she  shall  thereafter  be  housed  and  pro- 
tected under  my  roof  till  she  find  some  one  to  her  taste,  or 
till  she  die  here  unmarried/' 

"Well  spoken,  sir!"  cried  Whitney,  bravely,  while 
Madam  Trevor  stood  aghast,  and  Claude,  intensely  inter- 
ested in  the  scene,  deliberatively  crossed  the  room  and  sat 
down  with  his  back  to  the  wall. 

"  You  mean  to  inform  me  that  my  authority  is  at  naught 
in  this  household?"  inquired  Madam  Trevor,  hoarse  with 
excitement  and  anger. 

"I  am  thinking  only  of  Lucy's  happiness,"  returned 
her  son,  gently.  "She  must  be  called  to  come  back." 

"I,  certainly,  shall  not  remain  to  witness  this  scene." 

"Gentlemen,  excuse  me  for  one  instant.  I  will  sum- 
mon my  sister." 

Vincent  left  the  room ;  but,  in  spite  of  herself,  his  mother 
stayed.  She  was  too  deeply  interested  to  go ;  and,  despite 
her  traditions,  Lucy's  happiness  was  really  quite  as  dear 


238        The  House   of  de  Mailly 


to  her  as  to  her  son.  Claude,  from  behind  the  others,  phi- 
losophized a  little  in  the  silence.  How  differently  had 
such  a  scene  been  conducted  in  his  country !  There  would 
have  been  no  argument,  no  difficulty.  Above  all,  Lucy 
herself  would  have  been  the  last  person  to  be  consulted. 
Rockwell,  for  his  means  and  position,  would  certainly 
have  been  chosen ;  and,  if  it  were  a  Court  affair,  Whitney 
might  have  become  her  general  escort  afterwards.  Claude 
sighed.  This  colonial  boorishness  produced  far  better 
results.  Ethics  here  were  regarded  with  some  degree  of 
blind  appreciation.  In  his  own  countiy  it  was  not  so. 
A  second  sigh  was  in  his  heart  when  Luc3T,  preceded  by 
her  brother,  re-entered  the  room. 

There  was  still  perfect  silence.  Near  the  doorway  the 
young  girl  paused.  She  was  pale  and  red-eyed,  but  steady 
of  manner.  The  two  clergymen,  side  by  side,  faced  her, 
with  Vincent  to  the  right,  and  his  mother  upon  the  left. 
Claude,  quite  forgotten,  still  looked  on  from  the  opposite 
wall. 

"  Lucy,  I  have  brought  you  back  here  that  you  your- 
self may  make  choice  between  these  men.  Let  me  now, 
then,  entreat  you,  most  earnestly,  to  consider,  to  decide 
not  hastily,  but  as  in  heart  and  mind  you  deem  wisest. 
Love  is  not  always  all.  Respect — firmness — wisdom — 
ability  to  protect — these  are  as  strong.  I  place  confi- 
dence in  you,  Lucy;  and,  in  return,  I  ask  sincerity  from 
you.  We  will  wait  as  long  as  you  will.  Choose." 

During  his  words  Lucy  had  looked  earnestly  at  her 
brother.  Now,  however,  her  eyes  fell.  A  delicate  smile 
broke  over  her  face,  and  when  finally  she  looked  up  it  was 
to  encounter  the  eyes  of  John  Whitney,  who  was  regarding 
her  with  a  look  of  such  mingled  love,  fear,  and  longing, 
that  she  would  not  torture  him  by  suspense.  Gently  she 
extended  one  hand,  one  arm  to  him,  while  her  lips  smiled 
"Come,"  and  her  face  grew  beautiful  with  the  love-light 
in  it. 

He  went,  never  heeding  the  rest,  no  longer  aware,  per- 
haps, that  they  were  by.  And,  as  he  clasped  her  in  his 


Puritan   and  Courtier  239 

strong,  young,  Puritan  arms,  Claude  looked  courteously 
out  o'  window,  but  Madam  Trevor,  with  a  curious  dryness 
in  her  throat,  turned  suddenly  away. 

As  to  Rockwell,  he  left  the  house  very  quietly,  with  just 
what  feeling  in  his  heart  no  one  ever  knew. 

Then  Vincent,  all  at  once  perceiving  Claude,  and  re- 
membering his  pink  satin  errand,  took  him  quietly  by 
the  arm,  and  led  him  into  the  parlor,  Madam  Trevor  fol- 
lowing them.  The  three  sat  down  in  the  stiff  little  apart- 
ment, the  closed  door  shutting  the  two  in  the  hall  from 
their  sight.  Claude's  hour  of  patience  was  ended.  His 
time  had  come  now,  and  he  was  astonished  to  find  himself 
nervous. 

"I  must,  sir,  crave  your  indulgence  for  my  seeming 
discourtesy  in  keeping  you  waiting  so  long.  However,  as 
you  have  been  a  witness  of  the  affair  which  detained  me, 
you  may  perhaps  be  lenient  with  my  rudeness." 

Claude  made  a  proper  rejoinder.  He  was  but  half  con- 
scious of  what  he  said,  but  most  vigorously  aware  that 
Madam  Trevor's  eyes  were  travelling  rapidly  over  his  cos- 
tume. 

"  You  have  already  announced,  monsieur,  the  surprising 
nature  of  your  errand,  and  I  presume  that  you  now  desire 
to  discuss  it  with  us." 

Inwardly,  Claude  smiled  at  the  words.  They  struck 
him  as  being  very  absurd,  though,  according  to  prevailing 
English  notions,  they  were  excellently  chosen. 

"I  love  your  cousin,  Mistress  Deborah  Travis,  Mr. 
Trevor,  and  I  am  come  to  you  to  request  permission  to 
— address  her  on  the  subject  of  marriage.  I  am  a  stranger 
in  your  colony.  1  have  no  friends  who  know  my  family 
and  estate.  I  have  brought  with  me  such  papers  as  I 
possess,  such  as  can  in  any  way  speak  for  the  assurance 
of  my  birth,  and  them,  and  my  word  as  a  gentleman,  I 
must  ask  you  to  believe." 

Vincent  was  silent  for  some  moments,  considering; 
while  Claude  drew  from  one  of  his  side  pockets  a  little, 
flat  parcel  of  papers,  and  sat  nervously  fingering  them. 


240        The  House  of  de  Mailly 

It  was  Madam  Trevor,  who,  after  she  had  once  more  mi- 
nutely examined  him,  from  his  bag-wig  to  his  red-heeled 
shoes,  voiced  Vincent's  wish : 

"  Will  you,  sir,  be  so  vastly  obliging  as  to  tell  usr  in  your 
own  manner,  your  title,  estate,  lineage,  and  means  of 
livelihood?  I  am  sure,  sir,  that  common  prudence  and 
the  ardent  desire  for  the  welfare  of  my  ward  will  seem 
to  you  adequate  reason  for  such  a  request,  and  that 
you  will  have  no  hesitation  in  being  perfectly  frank 
with  us." 

Whatever  the  reason,  madam's  manner  was  as  suavely 
gracious  during  this  speech  as  Vincent  could  have  wished, 
and  he,  therefore,  did  not  add  to  it,  but,  expressing  his 
approval  with  a  slight  nod,  was  expectantly  silent  as 
Claude  began: 

"  My  name,  Madam  Trevor,  is  Claude  Vincent  Armand 
Victor  Anne  de  Nesle,  Comte  de  Mailly.  I  am  of  the 
younger  branch  of  the  family  Mailly-Nesle,  my  father 
having  been  the  second  son  of  Victor  Armand  Henri  Claude, 
who  died  in  the  year  ninety  of  the  last  century.  My  es- 
tates, which  are  in  Languedoc,  in  the  south  of  France, 
provide  me  with  sufficient  rental  to  maintain  me  comfort- 
ably at  Versailles,  where  I  have  resided  for  many  years. 
The  elder  branch  of  my  family,  which  takes  the  title  of 
Marquis  de  Mailly-Nesle,  is  well  known  and  of  high  posi- 
tion at  Court.  Seven  months  ago  I  fell  into  disfavor  because 
of  my  desire  that  a  cousin  of  mine  should — wed  a  gentle- 
man of  whom — his  Majesty  did  not  approve.  I  was  re- 
quested to  leave  Versailles  for  the  time,  and  so,  determin- 
ing to  travel,  1  came  first  to  the  colonies ;  and  how  I  have 
lived  here  you  know.  1  should  be — free  to  return  to  Court 
if — if  Mistress  Travis,  should  she  accept  me,  would  care  to 
go  thither.  To  be  frank,  1  am  myself  a  little  homesick 
for  my  country.  I  should  like  to  go  home." 

Claude  stopped,  having  wandered  too  far  in  his  ex- 
planation. He  saw  Madam  Trevor  regarding  him  blank- 
ly, and  he  read  suspicion  in  Vincent's  face. 

"It  is — pardon  me,  sir — an  unusual  story.    Do  they 


Puritan   and  Courtier  241 

exile  men  in  France  for  having  opinions  concerning  a 
cousin's  marriage?" 

"So  it  would  appear,  from  my  case,"  returned  Claude, 
dryly. 

"Again  pardon  me — but — have  you  a  document  of 
exile  with  you?" 

Claude  hesitated.  The  last  sentence  in  that  royal  letter 
was  the  most  awkward  possible  thing  for  a  man  who  wished, 
in  all  sincerity,  to  marry.  Long  he  studied  young  Trevor's 
face,  and  he  saw  the  distrust  therein  growing  with  every 
instant.  At  last,  with  an  imperceptible  shrug,  and  a 
sigh,  he  took  from  his  other  pocket  the  small,  worn  pa- 
per with  its  red -brown  seals  that  he  had  read  to  Deb- 
orah. 

"It  is  in  French,  monsieur.     You  doubtless  read  it?" 

Vincent  took  the  paper  scornfully,  and  began  its  perusal 
with  a  facility  due  to  intercourse  with  Aime"  St.  Quentin. 
When  he  finished  it,  his  mother  held  out  her  hand  for  the 
letter,  and,  as  she  read,  Vincent,  looking  squarely  into 
the  other's  eyes,  said,  slowly: 

"  You,  monsieur,  were  the  gentleman  of  whose  marriage 
with  your  cousin  the  King  did  not  approve?" 

Claude,  returning  the  look  eye  for  eye,  bowed. 

"And  who  is  this  cousin?" 

"The  Duchesse  de  Chateauroux. " 

"Good  Heaven!" 

Madam  Trevor,  her  face  suddenly  all  alight,  was  look- 
ing at  the  young  fellow  in  amazement — and  something 
else.  Could  the  other  be  admiration? 

"Your  cousin  is — the — the — " 

Claude  nodded. 

Silence. 

It  lasted  for  a  long  time.  De  Mailly  felt  his  cause  to 
be  growing  desperate.  He  did  not  understand.  Morals, 
which  were  stanch  in  so  far  as  Episcopal  rectorship  and  five 
hundred  a  year  were  concerned,  were  nevertheless  to  be 
differently  regarded  in  the  presence  of  a  courtier  Count 
and  cousinship  to  an  almost  queen,  It  was  again  Madam 


242         The  House   of  de  Mailly 

Trevor  who  finally  ejaculated,  from  her  whirling  chaos  of 
thoughts  and  plans : 

"Deborah  shall  be  fetched  at  once.  Vincent,  you  will 
arrange  the  settlements." 

Claude  started  with  astonishment,  and  young  Trevor 
rose: 

"  M.  de  Mailly,  you  may  speak  to  Deborah.  She  has 
free  choice — as  did  Lucy.  She  is  now — in  the  rose-gar- 
den, I  think." 

Claude  sprang  to  his  feet  and  moved  forward  a  pace 
or  two,  looking  easily  from  one  to  the  other  of  Deborah's 
guardians.  He  could  not  refrain  from  taking  snuff,  nor, 
having  finished,  from  remarking,  slowly : 

"I  shall  certainly,  Madame  and  Monsieur  Trevor,  en- 
deavor to  show  myself  worthy  of  the  trust  which  you  so 
readily  place  in  me." 

Thereupon,  with  two  very  polite  bows,  he  left  the  parlor, 
alone.  On  entering  the  hall  he  was  greeted  by  the  sound 
of  pawing  hoofs,  a  negro's  voice,  and  the  steps  of  two 
men  on  the  portico.  The  half-closed  door  was  flung  wide 
open,  and  Benedict  Calvert,  with  Fairfield  at  his  heels, 
entered  the  house.  Claude  stopped  and  turned  to  them. 

"The  devil!"  said  Sir  Charles, his  brows  growing  heavy. 

"  Monsieur,  your  eyes  deceive  you,"  responded  de  Mailly, 
pleasantly. 

Calvert  laughed. 

"What's  your  business  here?"  demanded  Fairfield  in 
an  ugly  voice.  He  had  been  in  no  pleasant  humor  on  his 
ride,  a  fact  explained  by  his  red  eyes,  pallid  face,  and 
slouching  dress;  and  the  unexpected  presence  of  Claude 
was  not  calculated  to  render  him  better-natured. 

"  My  business  here,  Sir  Charles,  concerns  myself.  How- 
ever, if  you  are  curious,  I  am  about  to  offer  myself  to  your 
cousin,  Miss  Travis." 

Claude  spoke  with  muscles  tense,  prepared  to  evade  a 
sword  thrust,  for  he  himself  wore  no  rapier  to-day.  To 
his  amazement,  his  words  for  a  moment  produced  no  effect 
whatever  on  his  quondam  rival.  Then,  suddenly,  while 


Puritan   and  Courtier  243 

Calvert  gazed  at  his  comrade,  Fairfield  burst  into  a  laugh. 
It  was  not  a  pleasant  laugh,  but  it  served  its  turn. 

"  What  a  household  'twill  be !  You  and  Deb,  I  and  Vir- 
ginia, Lou  and  her  Puritan  parson — for  whom  Benedict's 
come  to  plead.  A  fine  match-maker  y'are,  Calvert.  Why, 
monsieur,  if  't'adn't  been  for  him,"  pointing  to  the  dark- 
browed  ex-commissioner,  "  I  would  ha'  called  you  out.  As 
'tis  now,  I'll — marry  in  a  week,  and  be  off  for  God's  coun- 
try, the  Mall,  St.  Paul's,  and  White's  as  soon  as  a  vessel 
will  sail;  and  be  damned  to  the  colonies!" 

"  Hush,  Charlie !  Get  to  your  room,"  whispered  Calvert, 
laying  a  quiet  hand  on  Fairfield 's  arm. 

"  I  wish  you  good-afternoon,  messieurs,"  added  Claude, 
bowing. 

Fairfield  leered  at  him,  with  a  glint  of  desperation  in 
his  eyes,  and  started  off  to  the  west  wing,  with  Benedict 
Calvert  at  his  elbow,  while  Claude  de  Mailly,  musing 
gently,  passed  out  into  the  golden  mist  of  early  twilight, 
on  his  way  to  the  rose-garden  and  Deborah. 


CHAPTER   XI 

Distant   Versailles 

E  walked,  quite  leisurely,  over  the  turf  beside 
the  house,  past  the  western  wing,  towards  the 
terraces  that  led  into  the  garden.  The  sun- 
set faced  him  in  a  blinding,  hazy  radiance. 
At  the  top  of  the  little  flight  of  white  steps  he 
paused.  Silence,  perfect,  lonely,  was  all  about,  undis- 
turbed by  the  bird-notes  from  the  woods,  or  the  murmurous 
lapping  of  the  river  along  its  bank.  Once  or  twice  he 
breathed,  long  and  deeply,  delighted  with  the  pure  fra- 
grance of  the  air.  Then,  without  haste,  he  passed  down 
into  the  garden.  What  a  chaotic  mass  of  color  it  was! 
All  the  common  garden  flowers,  perennials  and  exotics, 
were  at  his  feet;  clove -pinks,  sweet-williams,  mari- 
golds, blue  iris,  candy  -  tuft,  corn  -  flowers,  purple  -  stock, 
cyanus,  carnations,  poppies,  balsam,  fragrant  herbs  in- 
numerable, the  last  sweet-pease,  pansies  and  dahlias — all 
in  a  disorderly  tangle  of  glory.  But  beyond  these  bour- 
geoisie of  the  flowers,  in  statelier  rows,  with  only  here  and 
there  a  blossom  in  their  dark  and  lustrous  foliage,  was  the 
noblesse,  the  court  of  the  flowers — the  rose-garden.  In  the 
midst  of  this,  upon  a  little  rustic  seat  against  the  northern 
wall,  in  a  tumbled,  forlorn  heap,  her  face  hidden  in  her  arm, 
her  unkempt  curls  all  loose  upon  her  neck,  lay  Deborah — 
poor  Deborah,  whose  little  colonial  world  had  crumbled 
about  her,  and  left  her  alone,  wretched,  hopeless,  in  space. 
In  the  afternoon  despair  overcame  her.  Her  work  was 
over,  and  she  was  at  liberty  to  think  unprofitable  thoughts. 
So,  after  an  hour  of  tears  here  in  the  drowsy  garden,  the 


Distant  Versailles  245 

day  finally  brought  what  peace  it  had  to  give,  and  she 
slept — was  sleeping  now,  in  the  twilight,  while  Claude  and 
her  new  world  came  to  her. 

He  had  discovered  her  almost  as  soon  as  he  entered  the 
garden,  more  by  instinct  than  observation.  And  he  made 
no  haste  to  go  to  her,  not  because  he  was  indifferent,  but 
because  he  could  not  bear  to  mar  the  perfect  progress  of  the 
hour  by  haste.  It  was  almost  with  regret  that  he  left  be- 
hind the  lower  half  of  the  garden  and  entered  the  turfy 
walk  between  the  rose-bushes.  From  a  perpetual  he 
plucked  one  full  pink  rose,  infinitely  beautiful  in  its  sol- 
itude, from  where  it  glowed,  half  hidden,  beneath  the 
leaves.  Gazing  half  at  it  and  half  at  her,  he  softly  ap- 
proached the  rustic  bench,  till  his  knee  touched  her 
gown. 

"Deborah!"''  he  whispered;  and  then  again,  a  little 
louder,  "Deborah!" 

She  stirred  in  her  sleep,  under  the  spell  of  a  wandering 
dream. 

"Deborah!" 

In  slow  wonderment  the  tangled  head  lifted,  the  white 
face,  with  its  tear-stained  cheeks,  was  raised,  and  the  gray- 
blue  eyes  fell  open  sleepily.  He  did  not  speak  while  she 
looked  at  him,  the  actual  presence  corresponding,  with 
startling  accuracy,  to  her  dream. 

"I  thought — you  had  gone  away,"  she  said,  softly. 

"  I  could  not  go  while  you  were  here,"  he  answered,  seat- 
ing himself  beside  her. 

She  sighed  like  a  child.  She  seemed  to-day  many  years 
younger  than  usual,  and  Claude  looked  at  her  curiously, 
wondering  at  her  manner. 

"Deborah,"  he  said,  gravely,  without  offering  to  touch 
her,  "1  am  going  back — home.  Will  you  come  with  me? 
Will  you  trust  me?  Will  you  let  me  make  a  new  life,  a 
new  home,  for  you?" 

She  caught  her  breath,  as  a  child,  after  a  long  crying- 
spell,  sobs,  reminiscently.  Then  she  sat  silent  while  he 
waited. 


246         The  House    of  de  Mailly 

"1  can't  be  happy  here  after — last  night/'  she  said,  at 
length. 

"  1  will  try  to  make  you  happy." 

She  made  no  answer,  but  perhaps  he  read  her  mind,  for 
he  grew  troubled.  One  thought  held  each  of  them.  It  was 
that  of  the  fair  and  stately  Duchess  —  la  Chateauroux, 
whom  Claude  had  loved.  And  which  picture  was  the 
fairer,  Claude's  memory  or  Deborah's  imagination,  it  were 
hard  to  tell. 

After  a  moment  or  two  the  pause  became  more  than 
uncomfortable.  Both  sat  in  growing  rigidity,  looking 
straight  before  them,  thinking,  helplessly.  Then,  all  at 
once,  Deborah,  with  fearful  hesitation,  turned  her  head 
and  looked  into  his  face.  And  suddenly,  when  Claude's 
poor  hope  was  all  but  dead,  one  of  her  hands,  cold  and 
tremulous,  crept  into  that  passive  one  of  his  that  lay  be- 
side her  on  the  seat.  It  was  her  answer.  How  the  promise 
was  sealed — need  not  be  told. 

Twilight  deepened  over  the  shadow  of  the  dead  day. 
Behind  the  black,  lacy  tree-tops  of  the  forest  a  sunset  flush 
pulsated  in  crimson  and  gold.  From  the  still  garden  the 
evening  fragrance,  intoxicating,  heart-stilling,  to  which 
neither  the  sunny  morning  odors  nor  the  night's  holy  in- 
cense could  be  compared,  floated  in  warm,  rich  breaths 
about  the  figures  of  the  man  and  woman  whose  lives  had 
come  to  join  each  other  over  wide  seas  and  many  lands. 
The  spell  of  the  evening  was  over  them  both.  Their  eyes 
wandered.  Their  thoughts  were  still.  Hand  in  hand,  two 
of  God's  pilgrims  met  here  to  rest  a  little  ere  they  moved 
on  again,  they  sat,  silent,  nerveless,  feeling,  perhaps,  more 
of  the  universal  love  than  that  of  individuals.  No  proph- 
ecy of  storms  to  come  disturbed  their  hour.  Only  the  gar- 
den and  the  timeless  twilight  enfolded  them.  The  bird- 
songs,  one  by  one,  melted  away.  The  waves  whispered 
unutterable  things.  And  so,  out  upon  the  pale  sunset, 
hanging  tremulous  as  by  a  thread  of  heaven,  came  a  fair 
silver  jewel — the  evening  star.  Deborah's  eyes  beheld  it, 
and  were  riveted  upon  its  liquid  beauty. 


Distant  Versailles  247 

"Look/'  she  breathed,  gently;  "they  call  it  the  emblem 

of  hope." 

"Hope — dearest?    What  need  have  we  of  hope?" 

She  made  no  answer,  only  her  hand  tightened  within 

his,  as  the  evening  wind  blew  softly  from  the  west. 


ffioofc  Iff 
THE    POST 


CHAPTER   I 

From  Metz 

OOD-MORN1NG,  Belle-Isle!    Is  it  good-morn- 
ing? What  news  from  the  royal  apartments  ? ' ' 
"None." 

"  None !     Ah !     Then  madame— " 
"  Is  still  on  guard ;  sees  none  but  her  own 
servants,  and — " 

"Richelieu,  of  course.     Then  it  is  unchanged." 

"  1  fear  not.  There  fly  rumors — that  his  Majesty  grows 
hourly  worse.  If  this  continues,  the  army  will  be  in  revolt, 
the  women  will  be  mobbed,  and — Quesnay  may  be  permit- 
ted to  prolong  the  reign." 

"Madame  is  playing  a  losing  game.  She  is  daring 
France.  I  am  going  to  seek  Richelieu,  if  he  is  accessible. 
This  suspense  cannot  continue." 

"  1  return  to  Saxe  and  the  council." 

"  Au  revoir,  then." 

"  Au  revoir!  1  wish  you  fortune  with  du  Plessis.  You 
are  one  of  the  few  who  can  risk  his  anger." 

The  two  marshals  uncovered  ceremoniously.  Jules  de 
Coigny  passed  into  the  Chateau  de  Metz,  and  Belle-Isle 
continued  on  his  way  to  the  camp. 

It  was  August  in  the  same  year  of  1744,  and  the  heart 
of  France,  her  army,  her  Court,  her  King,  and — her  Cha- 
teauroux,  was  at  Metz,  in  Alsace,  a  resting-place  sought 
after  Dettingen  and  the  long  summer  campaign.  And 
here  at  Metz,  whence  all  had  thought  to  depart  a  week 
before  for  Nancy,  on  the  road  to  Strasbourg,  Louis  XV. 
fell  ill.  That  had  been  upon  the  8th  day  of  the  month. 
Now,  on  the  I4th,  slow  -  gathering  consternation  was 


252         The  House   of  de  Mailly 

spreading  through  city,  Court,  and  camp,  though,  since 
the  morning  of  his  seizure,  not  a  single  soul  save  Mme. 
de  Chateauroux,  her  sister  Mme.  de  Lauraguais,  their 
personal  servants,  and  Louis  Armand  de  Richelieu  had 
seen  the  King.  Dim  rumors  that  the  illness  was  feigned 
at  first  circulated  through  the  chateau.  Then,  latterly, 
more  vivid  and  more  startling  theories,  originating  none 
knew  where,  but  spreading  with  the  conviction  of  truth, 
voiced  the  insistence  that  Louis  was  ill,  worse  than  any 
one  knew,  and  that  the  favorite,  coercing  Richelieu  into 
her  service,  desperate  with  the  fear  of  dismissal  from 
Court  when  his  Majesty's  condition  came  to  be  discovered, 
was  at  Louis'  side,  keeping  at  bay  the  army,  the  Court, 
and  the  kingdom.  Marie  Leczinska  and  her  dauphin 
were  still  at  Versailles,  praying  and  fasting,  along  with 
the  Jesuit  fathers  and  the  wearied  dames  du  palais,  who, 
in  the  absence  of  la  Chateauroux,  had  not  a  single  crumb 
of  gossip  with  which  to  comfort  their  souls  till  the  return 
of  the  Court. 

Marshal  Coigny,  much  disturbed  by  his  short  con- 
versation with  Belle -Isle,  yet  anxious  for  confirmation 
of  his  fears  before  taking  any  possible  rash  steps,  hurried 
into  the  morning-room  of  the  chateau,  temporary  resi- 
dence of  Majesty.  The  place  was  crowded  with  familiar 
faces,  mostly  men,  for  the  women  who  took  part  in  the 
campaign  had  learned  that  their  proper  place  in  it  was 
background.  Two  or  three,  however,  had  been  drawn 
hither  from  curiosity.  Among  them  was  a  certain  pretty 
Mme.  Lenormand  d'Etioles,  who,  to  the  displeasure  of  la 
Chateauroux,  had,  for  the  past  year,  figured  often  in 
royal  hunts,  and,  latterly,  played  a  very  conspicuous 
part  in  certain  thanksgiving  services  at  Lille  after  the 
first  siege.  So  far  as  it  could  be  surmised  she  had  never 
been  addressed  by  the  King,  but  she  was  well  enough 
known  at  Court  to  obtain  bows  from  most  of  the  men  and 
one  or  two  of  the  women.  This  morning  she  remained 
beside  her  husband  at  one  side  of  the  room,  watching  the 
throng  that  eddied  about  the  young  Due  de  Chartres, 


From   Metz  253 

who,  as  son  of  the  pious  d'0r!6ans,  was  at  this  time  sole 
representative  of  the  blood  in  Metz,  and,  consequently, 
was  vested  with  a  power  which  made  him  of  the  highest 
consequence.  He  alone,  of  all  these  nobles  and  courtiers, 
had  the  right  to  proceed  to  extreme  measures,  and  force 
an  entrance  to  the  royal  apartments  when  such  were 
closed  to  the  world.  He  might  also,  if  he  dared,  demand 
of  Majesty's  self,  in  the  face  of  a  created  Duchess,  his 
wife's  friend,  whether  such  Duchess  alone  were  Majesty's 
will  and  pleasure.  But  the  man  who  did  this,  though 
he  were  of  King's  blood,  must  have  grave  reason  ere  he 
should  so  risk  the  royal  anger. 

As  d'Orleans'  son  perceived,  from  the  midst  of  the  throng 
of  courtiers,  the  openly  curious  anxiety  with  which  he 
was  regarded  on  all  sides,  the  expression  of  care  and  re- 
sponsibility in  his  youthful  face  deepened.  Looking 
about  him  uneasily,  while  he  talked,  he  perceived  that 
de  Coigny  had  entered  the  room  and  was  coming  towards 
him  with  rapid  steps  and  preoccupied  manner. 

"What  news  of  his  Majesty's  condition?"  asked  the 
marshal,  abruptly  and  aloud,  with  a  directness  that 
startled  the  room. 

The  throng  about  Chartres  pressed  silently  closer,  and 
the  salon  waited  breathlessly  for  reply.  The  young  Duke 
turned  a  shade  paler,  and  did  not  open  his  lips. 

"His  Majesty  is  worse,"  muttered  de  Coigny,  half  to 
himself. 

"His  Majesty  is  worse,"  responded  a  sudden  voice  from 
behind. 

The  entire  company  turned  sharply  around.  De  Riche- 
lieu, who  had  entered  from  an  inner  door,  stood  before 
them,  snuff-box  in  hand.  His  face  was  nearly  as  pale  as 
his  wig.  His  eyes  were  heavy.  He  looked  haggard  and 
anxious. 

"Monseigneur  de  Chartres — if  I  might  be  granted  the 
honor  of  a  word  with  you?" 

"But  too  gladly,  monsieur.     Come." 

Chartres  hurried  forward  through  the  respectful  but 


254        The  House  of  de  Mailly 

eager  throng,  seized  Richelieu's  arm  with  a  whispered 
sentence,  and  drew  him  out  of  the  salon  to  a  room  inac- 
cessible to  courtiers. 

Behind  they  left  a  tumult  of  excitement.  Above  them, 
back  of  closed  doors,  Marie  Anne  de  Mailly-Nesle,  to- 
gether with  her  sister,  leaned  over  the  bedside  of  the  King 
of  France,  alone  with  a  great  fear,  yet  unspeakably  dread- 
ing company. 

Ah,  Marie!  Marie  Anne  de  Mailly — a  dangerous,  a 
desperate  game  hast  thou  played  for  six  days — six  ages, 
rather — past !  On  the  one  hand  Louis'  prayed-for  recovery ; 
on  the  other,  banishment,  perhaps  worse,  for  you;  what 
for  him — the  Almighty  knows.  Here  in  this  sultry  August 
morning,  in  the  second  story  of  the  ancient  Chateau  de 
Metz,  you  stand  at  the  bed  of  the  King ;  not  thinking  of 
much,  it  must  be  confessed,  anxiety  and  sleeplessness 
having  taken  the  poignancy  from  thought.  These  last 
days  have  been  very  wearing  ones. 

On  the  morning  of  Saturday,  the  8th,  that  morning 
when  headache  had  driven  the  King  from  prospective 
gayeties  to  the  solitude  of  his  own  apartment,  he  sum- 
moned his  Duchess  to  his  side  to  bear  him  company.  The 
morning  was  tedious.  He  could  not  be  amused.  In  the 
afternoon,  together  with  fever,  came  Richelieu,  and  grace- 
ful, caustic  -  tongued  Elise  de  Lauraguais.  And  upon 
that  afternoon,  when  no  one  dreamed  how  ill  Louis  al- 
ready was,  and  madame  and  the  Duke  were  alone  with 
him,  Richelieu  the  daring,  now  owing  half  his  prestige 
to  the  favorite  whose  sponsor  he  had  once  been,  and  who, 
without  her,  would  have  found  his  Court  life  infinitely 
difficult,  had  thought,  foreseen,  dreaded,  decided,  and 
easily  drawn  the  woman  into  his  plan.  The  admission 
of  any  other  to  the  rooms  must  mean,  eventually,  the 
confession,  absolution,  and  unction  of  his  Majesty.  Be- 
fore the  performance  of  this  last,  Louis  must  repent  of  his 
irregular  life,  and  as  proof  of  repentance  madame  must 
receive  her  conge  —  for  such  was  only  customary  at  the 
great  Court  of  France. 


From   Metz  255 

"And  so,  Anne/'  Richelieu  said  to  her,  in  a  low,  men- 
acing tone,  "  we  keep  our  places  here,  you  and  I.  If  the 
King  recovers,  our  power  is  unlimited." 

"If  he  is  worse?" — she  looked. 

"  It  is  destiny.  When  we  play  for  lives,  we  must  risk 
them." 

So  madame  stayed.  She  thought  of  that  momentous 
little  conversation  now,  as  she  sat  watching  the  sunlight 
play  over  the  drawn  bed-curtain.  She  and  her  sister  had 
removed  from  their  rooms  in  the  Abbaye  St.  Arnold  beside 
the  chateau,  where  they  had  lodged  at  first,  and  taken 
possession  of  the  royal  suite.  Their  own  servants  pre- 
pared the  sick  man's  food,  their  own  hands  smoothed 
the  hot  pillow.  They  had  shut  the  clamorous  Court 
away,  letting  rumor  fly  as  she  would.  During  the  first 
three  days  Louis,  for  the  most  of  the  time,  sat  bravely 
up,  in  satin  lounging  -  robe,  cap,  and  slippers.  None 
could  have  striven  more  anxiously  to  distract  and  please 
him  than  the  two  favorites  and  the  sister.  Notwithstand- 
ing, upon  the  fourth  day,  Wednesday  —  now  the  day  be- 
fore yesterday — his  body  had  mastered  his  will,  and  he 
did  not  rise.  Since  then  time  had  not  moved;  eternity 
seemed  settling  down  upon  the  trio  of  watchers.  The 
King  wanted  no  amusement  now.  He  was  perfectly 
content  to  lie,  half  sleeping,  through  the  whole  day,  smil- 
ing faintly  when  madame  brought  his  food,  accepting  a 
few  mouthfuls  with  an  effort,  because  they  came  from 
her  fingers ;  otherwise  unmoved,  unspeaking,  unthinking. 
Thursday  was  the  same,  ay,  longer  than  ever ;  and  as  the 
three  sat  silent  in  the  dusk,  beside  the  open  window,  they 
had  not  much  cared  to  talk.  Only  madame,  with  what 
composure  she  could  gather,  asked  of  Richelieu,  who  had 
for  a  moment  that  day  seen  de  GeVres: 

"What  are  the  people  saying,  good  uncle?" 

And  Richelieu,  nervously  smoothing  his  knee,  looked 
at  her  with  grim  significance.  "We  stake  high,"  he 
said. 

The  Duchesse  de  Lauraguais  gave  a  little  cough. 


256         The  House   of  de  Mailly 

Then  silence  fell  again,  while  the  lips  of  la  Chateauroux 
closed  more  firmly,  and  a  rarely  seen  light  came  into  her 
eyes.  Richelieu's  expression,  however,  did  not  change. 
Was  it  possible  that  her  courage  in  desperation  was  greater 
than  his?  No.  It  was  this.  Richelieu  was  not  yet 
desperate.  There  was,  for  him,  still  one  move  that  was 
not  left  to  her.  He  would  not  necessarily  be  banished 
from  Court  if  it  came  to  a  point  of  extreme  unction  and 
madame.  But  if  the  King  of  France  were  to  expire  here 
alone,  with  them,  then  Louis  Armand  du  Plessis  might, 
indeed,  tremble  for  what  happiness  life  held  for  him.  He 
said  nothing,  however,  yet.  Twilight  mingled  with  the 
dark.  From  many  windows  glimmered  forth  the  city 
lights,  and  madame  finally  swallowed  a  cup  of  chocolate 
and  sought  her  rest.  Richelieu  was  left  to  watch  alone, 
in  the  darkness,  by  the  King. 

Louis  XV.  slept,  now  and  then  restless  with  fever,  but 
for  the  most  part  quietly.  The  Duke  sat  in  his  chair  by 
the  window,  the  sultry  night  air  stealing  in  to  him,  not 
asleep,  but  thinking  of  many  things,  of  much  history  known 
to  him  alone  of  Court,  of  camp,  of  street,  and  of  the  lives 
of  real  men.  All  men,  beneath  their  masks  of  manners, 
are  very  real  1  What  a  little  game  these  courtiers  played  1 
How  lives  were  broken  and  intellects  stunted  for  the  sake 
of  being,  for  one  little  hour,  associated  with  that  single 
man  born,  willy-nilly,  to  immortality  in  history!  This 
very  King,  for  whom  he,  Richelieu,  was  living  a  life  envied 
and  unenviable,  what  was  he  but  a  disagreeable  fellow, 
handsome,  rather  sulky,  either  really  or  unaffectedly 
stupid,  lazy,  unutterably  weary  of  himself  and  his  busi- 
ness, with  more  of  a  taste  for  turning  and  cookery  than 
for  governing  a  kingdom  or  managing  an  army?  After 
all,  these  Bourbons  might  have  made  an  excellent  line  of 
workmen,  all  but  Louis  XIV.,  who  would  have  been  the 
ne'er-do-weel  of  them.  Not  one  but  had  his  taste  and  real 
talent  for  an  honest  profession.  And  how  were  France 
to-day,  we  wonder,  had  Louis  XV.  turned  chef  and  Louis 
XVI.  cultivated  to  its  utmost  his  no  mean  ability  for  locks 


From   Metz  257 

and  clocks?  The  night  grew  hotter  as  it  advanced,  and 
rain  was  promised  for  the  morrow. 

At  midnight,  suddenly,  the  King  woke,  and  demanded, 
in  a  voice  much  changed,  something  to  drink.  Richelieu 
hastily  brought  wine  and  water,  not  too  cool.  His  Majesty 
drank  thirstily,  and  lay  back  once  more,  but  with  eyes 
open,  till  the  Duke  had  put  away  the  glass.  Then,  with 
unusual  directness,  he  said : 

"Here,  du  Plessis,  sit  by  the  bed.  I  want  to  talk  with 
you." 

"Will  you  have  light,  Sire?" 

"  No.  It  disturbs  my  eyes.  Listen  to  what  I  shall  say. 
You  are  here?  Yes.  Well,  then,  I  am  going  to  die." 

"  Sire !     For  God's  sake — let  me  call  some — " 

"  Chut !  I  want  no  one.  It'll  be  a  comfort  to  go  in  peace. 
I  am  going  to  die.  I  have  always  feared  the  thought ;  but 
when  one  really  arrives  at  the  time — it  is  not  much.  I  am 
not  afraid,  du  Plessis.  I  wish  to  express  to  you  my  grati- 
tude for  having  kept  the  Court  and  the  doctors  and  the 
Orleans  lot  away  from  me.  They  are  bores.  What  I  would 
say  is  this :  When  I  am  really  gone,  there  will,  of  course, 
be  a  scandal  concerning  my  sickness  and  death,  having 
none  but  you  and — her — to  attend  me.  You'll  get  through 
it,  du  Plessis.  Parbleu !  There  is  no  nation  that  can  with- 
stand your  manner.  My  dear  Dauphin  —  ought  to  love 
you.  But  Anne — Anne!  Where  will  she  go?  What  to 
do  for  her?  Richelieu,  I  love  her.  Yes,  truly,  as  no  wom- 
an before.  Take  her,  then,  under  your  protection.  I 
leave  her  to  your  care.  Get  her  from  here  safely.  Send 
her  for  a  little  to  her  estates,  or  one  of  yours.  Say  that  I 
command  her  title  to  remain  to  her.  But,  my  friend,  do 
not  let  her  marry.  Keep  her  from  that.  Par  le  del !  If  I 
dreamed  that  she  would — d'Agenois,  or  that  de  Mailly,  or 
any  other — promise,  du  Plessis!" 

"Your  will,  always,  Sire!" 

"More  wine,  then.  Diablel  My  head  is  on  fire !  More 
wine,  and  I  sleep  again." 

Richelieu  refilled  the  glass,  which  his  master  drained  to 


258         The  House   of  de  Mailly 

the  last  drop.  Then  he  sank  back  to  the  pillows,  turned 
restlessly  half  a  dozen  times,  whistled  a  bar  or  two  in  the 
darkness,  and  so  dozed  again,  while  the  Duke,  with  a  new 
and  very  heavy  weight  upon  his  heart,  returned  to  the  win- 
dow. The  King  had  frightened  him  more  than  he  dared 
confess  to  himself.  Certainly  Louis'  words  had  been  un- 
mistakably sincere.  He  believed  that  he  was  going  to  die. 
The  King's  fear  of  danger  to  his  favorite  Duchess  was  well 
founded,  unquestionably.  But  the  King's  confidence  in 
Richelieu's  ability  to  rise  again  in  the  world,  Richelieu 
himself  held  in  very  decided  doubt.  If  matters  were  come 
to  this  pass,  it  were  well  to  act.  When  a  man's  Damocles 
has  actually  got  to  the  single-hair  state,  that  man,  if  there 
be  any  way  in  which  to  move,  does  very  well  to  get  from 
under  it,  though  he  must  leave  a  companion  behind,  help- 
less, in  his  place.  The  King  must  live  till  morning,  must 
absolutely  live  till  morning,  and  then — Richelieu  would 
once  more  prove  himself  a  wise  man.  He  must  turn  traitor 
to  his  personal  trust  with  madame  and  the  King,  too,  for 
the  sake  of  the  safety  of  the  King,  and,  therefore,  his  own. 
If  he  regretted  the  inevitable  consequences  in  the  career 
of  la  Chateauroux,  he  was  philosopher  enough  to  wave 
them  aside  without  difficulty.  Something  one  must  lose  in 
such  a  place.  It  should  be  as  little  as  possible. 

On  Friday  morning  the  King  awoke  to  find  his  three  at- 
tendants all  beside  him,  and  what  repast  he  might  take — 
chocolate,  a  roll,  a  jelly  —  not  too  well  prescribed,  waiting. 
From  his  manner  one  could  not  have  told  whether  or  not 
he  recalled  that  midnight  conversation  with  du  Plessis. 
Certainty  he  looked  ill  enough  this  morning.  His  flushed 
face  was  haggard,  his  lips  cracked,  his  blue  eyes  dull,  his 
brain  feeble,  but  half  working.  Madame  looked  upon  him 
with  a  pang  of  grief  and  fear.  While  she  smoothed  out  his 
bright  yellow  locks,  freed  from  their  wig,  and  bathed  his 
unpainted  face  and  dry  hands  with  scented  water,  her  sister 
holding  the  silver  basin,  Richelieu  disappeared.  An  hour 
later,  when  the  room  was  again  still,  a  fly  or  two  buzzing  at 
the  window,  Mme.  de  Lauraguais  purfling,  Marie  Anne 


From    Metz  259 

beside  the  drowsy  King,  the  Duke  had  not  yet  returned. 
It  was  the  longest  absence  that  he  had  made  from  the  bed- 
side, except  for  sleep.  That  he  was  not  asleep  now,  madame 
knew  very  well.  His  bed  in  the  royal  suite  had  been  made. 
He  had  let  himself  quite  out  of  these  rooms,  and  was 
gone — to  whom?  Whither?  And  Mme.  de  Chateauroux, 
though  she  trusted  Richelieu  as  she  did  herself,  became, 
after  a  little,  nervous  with  anxiety  for  his  return.  Pres- 
ently she  moved  over  to  Mme.  de  Lauraguais,  her  puppet- 
shadow. 

"Elise,  du  Plessis  is  absent  still.  I  am  disturbed. 
Why  should  he  be  so  long  away?  Do  you  think — do  you 
think— 

"I  think  that  he  has  gone  to  de  Glvres.  He  will  bring 
us  back  some  news  of  the  Court.  It  will  be  something  to 
divert  his  Majesty  this  afternoon,  and  something  for  us  to 
listen  to  this  morning.  Heigh-ho!" 

At  this  moment  the  King's  hand  slipped  through  the 
bed-curtains  and  drew  one  of  them  aside  till  his  face  was 
visible.  Smiling  faintly  at  the  Duchess,  he  motioned  her 
to  him  with  a  peculiar  glance.  "Du  Plessis  is  out,  you 
say?" 

Madame  nodded. 

"  Send  for  him,  then.     Recall  him  at  once.     He — " 

"  He  is  here,"  interrupted  Elise. 

The  door  from  the  broad  hall  to  the  anteroom  had  opened. 
For  an  instant  madame 's  heart  stood  still.  Then  Riche- 
lieu, patch-box  in  hand,  came  leisurely  in. 

"  Ah \"  The  relief  in  the  sigh  was  very  apparent.  "  You 
have  been  absent  so  long,  we  became  anxious." 

The  Duke  smiled  pleasantly  and  shrugged.  "  His  Maj- 
esty is  awake?"  he  asked,  seeing  that  madame  was  by  the 
bed. 

"He—" 

Louis  suddenly  dropped  the  curtain,  hid  himself  from 
view,  and  so  signified  that  he  was  not  to  be  disturbed. 

"He  has  just  been  speaking  with  us,"  whispered  la 
teauroux,  moving  again  across  to  her  sister. 


260        The  House   of  de  Mailly 

Richelieu  nodded.  "  You  have  not  yet  dined  ?"  he  asked, 
idly. 

"  It  is  still  an  hour  to  one." 

"  Ah,  true !     I  had  not  noticed  the  clock. " 

"You  are  exhausted  from  having  watched  all  night. 
Go  and  rest.  I  will  call  you  when  dinner  is  served." 

A  long,  slow  smile  stretched  itself  over  Richelieu's  im- 
perturbable features.  "  1  go,  then ;  but  it  is  on  condition 
that  madame  calls  me  when  dinner  is  served."  With 
which  enigmatically  spoken  commonplace,  he  forthwith 
disappeared. 

"It  is  his  habit  to  make  significance  of  manner  count 
for  wit,"  observed  Elise,  turning  to  the  window. 

For  half  an  hour  there  was  silence,  perfect,  drowsy. 
Mme.  de  Lauraguais'  hands  fell  passively  into  her  lap. 
The  King,  under  his  great  canopy,  was  still.  None  could 
tell  whether  he  slept  or  no.  La  Chateauroux,  her  eyes 
half  closed,  watched  the  sunlight  play  over  the  roofs  of 
the  houses  in  the  town,  and  listened  absently  to  the  noon 
murmur  that  rose  from  its  streets.  Only  Richelieu,  in 
the  room  beyond,  was  alert,  waiting,  as  he  lay  on  his 
extemporized  couch.  At  half -past  twelve  the  King  de- 
manded wine.  Madame  poured  it  out  and  carried  it  to 
his  side.  He  had  not  taken  it  from  her  hand  when  the 
door  to  the  anteroom  opened  vigorously,  and  four  men 
appeared  on  the  threshold  of  his  Majesty's  bedroom.  The 
glass  dropped  from  the  suddenly  nerveless  fingers  of 
madame,  and  crashed  down  upon  the  wooden  floor.  Elise, 
with  a  low  exclamation,  rose  from  her  chair,  her  face  color- 
less. La  Chateauroux,  leaving  the  King's  side,  moved 
slowly  over  to  her  sister,  and  stood  facing  the  intruders. 
After  the  first  instant  calmness  came  to  her.  M.  de  Chartres 
had  forced  the  consigns  at  last.  With  him  were  the  King's 
chaplain,  Bishop  of  Soissons,  Fitz- James,  Pere  Perusseau 
the  confessor,  and  M.  de  Maurepas,  possibly  as  represen- 
tative of  de  Berryer.  These  four  men  stood  facing  the 
Duchess,  who  regarded  them  steadily,  death  knocking  at 
her  heart. 


From  Metz  261 


"Why — do  you  come?"  she  asked,  dully,  knowing  well 
enough  the  reason. 

"It  is  time,  I  think,  madame,"  returned  Maurepas, 
with  something  ill-advised  in  his  tone. 

"His  Majestjr  is  here?"  interposed  Chartres,  sternly. 

"Naturally,"  she  replied,  with  curling  lip. 

"And  M.  de  Richelieu?" 

"I  have  the  honor,  Monseigneur." 

Richelieu  spoke*  from  the  doorway  of  his  bedroom,  where 
he  stood,  quite  still,  a  little  stiffer  than  usual,  eying  de 
Chartres  as  though  he  would  have  impressed  something 
upon  him.  Perhaps  Monseigneur  understood.  At  any 
rate,  the  hesitation  became  a  pause,  and  the  pause  grew 
into  a  hopeless  stillness  as  the  Duchesse  de  Chateauroux 
turned  slowly  about  and  faced  the  companion  of  these 
last  days. 

"Du  Plessis — you — "  she  faltered,  actually  unsuspect- 
ing, speaking  as  if  to  a  companion  in  trouble. 

"Madame,"  he  responded,  brokenly. 

"Can  you — do  nothing?  Have  you  no  help?"  she 
whispered. 

Richelieu  bent  his  head.     "Nothing." 

Maurepas  smiled  sarcastically,  but  no  one  noticed  it. 
Fitz- James  of  Soissons  advanced  into  the  room,  his  robes 
trailing,  his  manner  lofty  and  severe. 

"Mme.  Marie,  and  you  —  Mme.  de  Lauraguais — are 
requested  to  retire  to  the  apartment  which  you  have  oc- 
cupied since  quitting  the  abbaye.  There — later — some 
one  will  go  to  you." 

He  raised  his  hand  and  pointed  to  the  door  which  led 
into  the  antechamber,  and  so  to  the  corridor.  For  the 
shadow  of  an  instant  madame  hesitated,  her  eyes  passing 
in  a  long  glance  from  Richelieu's  unreadable  face  to  the 
great,  silent  bed.  Then,  with  a  slight  gesture  to  her 
sister,  she  moved  slowly,  unsteadily,  towards  the  door 
which  the  bishop  designated.  In  silence  the  five  men 
saw  them  go.  Louis  XV.,  closed  in  by  his  curtains, 
silent,  passive,  heard  all,  and  guessed  the  unspoken ;  sur- 


262        The   House   of  de  Mailly 

mised  Richelieu's  loyal  treachery,  read  madame's  heart 
from  her  steps,  realized  that  his  time  for  repentance  ap- 
proached, deplored  the  necessity,  thought  of  his  dinner, 
and  rather  hoped  that  existence  might  not  be  too  much 
prolonged. 

While  Falconet*  was  hastily  summoned  to  attend  the 
King,  while  Monseigneur  made  humble  explanation  to 
his  relative,  and  Richelieu  adroitly  assisted  in  carrying 
out  the  bishop's  ideas  for  the  forthcoming  confession, 
absolution,  and  unction  of  his  Majesty,  the  two  sisters 
had  gained  their  apartment.  Elise,  by  this  time  on  the 
way  to  hysterics,  threw  herself  desperately  on  the  bed. 
The  sister  watched  her  with  pale,  silent  scorn.  Her  arms 
were  folded.  Her  foot  tapped  nervously  on  the  floor.  She 
said  not  a  word. 

"Madame,"  whispered  Antoinette,  at  last,  "what  shall 
I  do?" 

Madame's  eyes  turned  towards  her  for  an  instant. 
"Nothing,"  she  said,  shortly. 

Elise's  woman  was  busy  over  her  with  sal  -  volatile, 
tears,  entreaties,  and  a  fan.  By  degrees  she  grew  quieter, 
forgetting  herself  sufficiently  at  last  to  look  at  her  sister. 

"Marie — why  do  you  look  so?  What  are  you  doing?" 
she  asked. 

"I?    I  am  waiting." 

"Waiting!     For  what?" 

The  Duchess,  who  had  studied  well  the  ways  of  courts, 
and  who  knew  each  step  of  an  affair  like  this,  did  not  an- 
swer. Her  lips  straightened  into  a  bitter  smile.  Mme. 
de  Lauraguais  might  read  it  if  she  would. 

Matters  were  at  this  juncture  when  the  waiting  was 
ended  conventionally.  In  response  to  a  rap  Antoinette, 
having  received  the  nod  of  permission  from  her  mistress, 
opened  the  door  and  admitted  Marc  Antoine  Voyer,  Comte 
d'Argenson,  a  man  closely  associated  with  Maurepas, 
and  hence  not  loved  by  the  favorite.  He  entered  the  apart- 

*  The  King's  consulting  physician. 


From   Metz  263 


ment  with  perceptible  hesitation,  and  stopped  not  very 
far  inside  to  turn  to  madame.  She  sat  regarding  him 
like  a  sphinx,  immovable,  unspeaking.  Poor  d'Argenson 
had  been  in  few  less  happy  situations.  Here  were  four 
pairs  of  feminine  eyes  fixed  upon  him  in  dread  anticipa- 
tion. How  near  to  explosion  from  one  of  them  matters 
had  gone,  the  young  man  did  not  know.  He  perceived 
by  the  expression  of  la  Chateauroux  that  there  had  been 
no  going  to  pieces  yet.  Even  while  he  faced  her,  fumbling 
for  words,  she  put  out  her  hand  to  him,  saying : 

"Give  me  your  letter, monsieur,  or — "  the  hand  dropped 
— "or  was  it  in  words  that  the  order  was  given?" 

"No,  madame.     Here  is  the  paper." 

He  took  it  from  under  the  hat  which  he  carried  in  the 
left  arm,  and  gave  it  to  her.  It  was  not  long,  and  the  ink 
upon  it  was  scarcely  dry.  Yet  its  seals — those  of  Orl6ans 
and  France — precluded  any  possibility  of  disobedience  of 
the  command  it  expressed.  As  her  sister  read  it  through, 
Mme.  de  Lauraguais  sat  up  on  the  bed,  a  growing  sense 
of  terror  coming  over  her.  Not  the  smallest  expression 
crossed  the  face  of  la  Chateauroux.  Her  mouth  was 
firmly  set.  She  read  slowly,  as  one  who  forced  herself 
to  see  written  out  something  of  which  she  was  already 
thoroughly  cognizant.  When  she  had  finished  the  last 
line,  madame  opened  her  fingers,  and  the  paper  fluttered 
to  the  floor. 

"That  is  all,  monsieur?    Have  the  goodness  to  retire." 

"Pardon,  madame;  it  is  not  quite  all." 

"  What  further,  then?     What  insult  can  be  added?" 

"It  is  no  insult,  but  an  offer  of  assistance." 

"From  whom?    For  what?" 

"  From  the  Marshal  de  Belle-Isle,  of  his  carriage  to  con- 
vey you  as  far  as  Nancy,  where  you  may  obtain  a  post- 
chaise." 

"  Ah!     Coward!     So  he  would  patronize  me  now!" 

Madame's  nerve  was  failing  her  at  last.  Her  face  had 
grown  suddenly  scarlet,  and  from  her  attitude  d'Argenson 
believed  that  she  would  gladly  have  flung  herself  upon 


264        The  House   of  de  Mailly 

him  to  end  the  matter  after  the  fashion  of  the  Court  of 
Miracles.  But  young  d'Argenson  was  a  diplomat,  edu- 
cated in  a  famous  school,  and  he  had  a  manner  of  steel 
that  would  not  melt  before  the  white-hot  fire  of  a  woman's 
wrath.  Eye  for  eye  he  met  the  gaze  of  the  Duchess,  and, 
as  her  quivering  muscles  grew  still  under  the  spell  of  his 
calm,  he  said,  quietly: 

"Pardon  me,  madame.  I  think  that  you  do  not  quite 
comprehend  your  situation.  If  you  but  reflect,  you  will 
instantly  perceive  how  much  of  wisdom  there  would  be  in 
making  the  departure  of  yourself,  of  madame  your  sister, 
and  of  your  two  women  as  quiet  as  possible." 

Whether  it  was  his  air  or  his  eminently  unemotional 
words  that  impressed  the  woman  before  him,  d'Argenson 
never  knew.  It  was  enough  that,  after  a  long  and  troubled 
silence,  la  Chateauroux  finally  raised  her  head  and  an- 
swered, in  a  tone  but  little  above  a  whisper : 

"I  thank  you,  Monsieur  le  Comte.  If — the  Marshal  de 
Belle-Isle  will  have  his  coach  at  the  abbaye  door  at  four 
o'clock,  I — we — will  take  our  departure  as  quietly  as  pos- 
sible." 

D'Argenson  breathed  deeply  with  relief.  Bowing  low, 
he  backed  towards  the  door,  pausing  only  an  instant  to 
repeat,  musically:  "At  the  abbaye  door,  madame. 
That  is  most  wise.  At  the  abbaye  door." 


CHAPTER    II 

The  Disgrace 

HILE  Mme.  de  Lauraguais  lived  she  remem- 
bered the  journey  from  Metz  to  Paris  as  the 
most  utterly  wretched  affair  of  her  life.  For 
the  Duchess,  she  expressed  no  opinion  on  the 
matter  one  way  or  the  other.  On  leaving  the 
coach  of  M.  de  Belle-Isle  at  Nancy,  where  they  were  to  en- 
gage their  own  post-horses  and  chaise,  they  found  that  not 
only  word  of  the  King's  illness,  but  also  news  of  the  dis- 
missal of  the  favorite,  had  preceded  them,  and  was  in  every 
one's  mouth.  Moreover  all  France  was  in  a  state  of  the 
wildest  grief  and  anxiety  over  the  bien-aim€,  as  he  was 
commonly  known.  All  churches  were  open,  and  in  them 
masses,  repeated  by  priests  actually  weeping  with  excited 
sorrow,  were  continually  said.  Men  and  women  of  every 
class  left  their  business  and  pleasure  to  join  in  the  universal 
prayers  for  the  recovery  of  the  King ;  and  the  Queen  and 
dauphin  set  out  together  from  Versailles  with  a  company 
of  Jesuits,  to  hasten  to  Louis'  side.  It  was  when  news  of 
his  Majesty's  danger  was  carried  to  the  Queen  that  the 
eldest  son,  boy  as  he  was,  bethought  him  nimbly  and  made 
that  intensely  priggish  and  uncalled-for  remark — the  one 
reason  that  France  really  had  for  rejoicing  that  their  Louis 
did  recover : 

"Poor  people!     You  have,  then,  only  me!" 
It  was  said  that  he  had  a  catalogue  of  similar  phrases 
for  various  occasions  written  down  for  him  by  Pere  Griffet, 
and  dutifully  learned  by  heart. 

At  Epernay  the  carriages  of  her  Majesty  and  la  Chateau- 
roux  passed  each  other.     By  that  time  madame,  in  terror 


266        The  House   of  de   Mailly 

of  the  people  who  had  threatened  to  mob  her  along  the  way, 
was  travelling  incognito  in  the  humblest  possible  manner, 
changing  places,  when  going  through  towns,  with  Antoi- 
nette. Even  as  it  was,  their  progress  was  extremely  difficult. 
Four  women  journeying  alone,  with  no  man  but  an  attend- 
ant valet  seated  on  the  box,  to  manage  for  them,  were  treated 
with  none  too  much  respect  in  the  France  of  those  days. 
Ere  they  reached  Paris,  however,  and  before  the  Queen  had 
arrived  at  her  lord's  side,  a  triumphant  courier  tore  along 
the  road  on  his  way  to  the  metropolis  with  the  word  that 
Louis'  danger  was  over,  that  he  would  recover.  Mme.  de 
Chateauroux  had  arrived  at  Meaux,  and  was  resting  there 
overnight,  when  the  news  spread  through  the  town.  Mme. 
de  Lauraguais  had  doubted  its  effect  on  her  sister.  When 
it  was  told  her,  however,  the  Duchess  said,  very  quietly: 
"  I  thank  the  good  God  that  it  is  so!"  and  lapsed  again  into 
that  silence  which  she  had  persistenth7'  maintained  since 
leaving  the  King.  Later  in  the  night,  however,  she  de- 
spatched to  Richelieu  one  of  those  strange,  bourgeois  epis- 
tles that  have  come  down  to  us  to  be  marvelled  at  as 
written  by  a  gentlewoman.* 

Meaux  is  not  a  great  distance  from  Paris,  but  it  was  al- 
most the  1st  of  September  before  the  sisters  reached  their 
destination.  They  did  not  go  to  the  H6tel  de  Mailly,  for 
the  reason  that  Henri's  wife,  never  fond  of  her  superb  sis- 
ter-in-law, would  very  possibly  fail  to  know  her  now  in  the 
time  of  her  adversity.  Rather,  Mesdames  de  Lauraguais 
and  Chateauroux  retired  to  a  small  hdtel  in  the  Rue  du  Bac, 
which  the  favorite  had  inhabited  before.  On  August  28th 
they  arrived,  travel-stained,  weary,  but  mightily  relieved 
in  heart  at  being  safe  at  their  journey's  end.  The  little 
house  was  desolate  enough  when  they  entered  it,  but,  with 

*  Lettres  Autographes  de  Mme.  Chdteauroux, — Library  of  Rouen : 
"  I  can  well  believe  that  so  long  as  the  King  is  feeble  he  will  be  in  a 
great  state  of  devotion ;  but,  as  soon  as  he  is  better,  I  bet  I  shall  trot 
furiously  through  his  head,  and  that  in  the  end  he  will  not  be  able  to 
resist,  but  will  quietly  send  Bachelier  and  Lebel  to  see  what  is  become 
of  me." 


The   Disgrace  267 

the  combined  efforts  of  the  two  maids,  the  valet  Fouchelet, 
and  the  conci&rge,  a  supper  was  contrived,  some  beds  pre- 
pared, and  a  little  fresh  air,  hot  as  it  was,  let  through  the 
musty  rooms. 

At  one  o'clock  of  the  next  day  Mme.  de  Lauraguais, 
much  refreshed  by  her  sleep  and  revived  by  her  chocolate, 
entered  her  sister's  bedroom.  Marie  Anne  was  still  in  bed, 
wide-awake,  however,  and  meditating  on  getting  up. 

"Good-morning,  Anne.  Here  is  the  latest  Nouvelles  a 
la  Main  from  Mme.  Doublet's.  Jeanne  obtained  it  for  me, 
I  don't  know  where,  possibly  at  Henri's." 

"And  what  does  it  say?    What — of — Louis?" 

Elise's  expression  changed.    "  Oh — there  is  little  of  him. " 

"Tell  me  at  once.  What  has  been  done  now?  I  am, 
perhaps,  no  longer  Duchess?" 

"  No,  no !  You  mistake.  There  is  only  his  '  expression 
of  regret  for  the  flagrancy  of  my  former  life,  the  bad  ex- 
ample 1  have  set  my  people — a  promise  to  amend  for  the 
future,  God  granting  me  a  life  to  lead  with  justice  and 
righteousness. '  *  That  is  all. " 

Mme.  de  Chateauroux's  lip  curled,  but  she  said  nothing. 
After  an  instant's  pause  she  struck  a  little  gong  at  her  side, 
and,  at  Antoinette's  quick  appearance,  observed,  languidly  : 

"I  rise  now.  My  garments  at  once."  As  the  maid  dis- 
appeared, she  turned  again  to  her  sister.  "  Is  that  all  your 
news?" 

"  No.  Here  is  something  which  you  will  wish  to  hear. 
The  Due  d'Agenois,  arrived  in  Paris  a  month  ago,  is  suf- 
fering an  attack  of  fever  at  his  hdtel  in  the  Rue  de  1'Eveque. " 

"Ah!  Francois  again!"  Again  the  Duchess  was  silent, 
and  presently  a  curious  smile  came  to  play  about  her  lips. 
Elise  interrupted  the  reverie. 

"  I  do  not  understand  this,  Anne.     His  exile — " 

"Was  for  two  years.  It  is  ended.  He  served  me  well 
before,  Elise.  It  is  an  omen.  Through  him  I  shall  rise 
again.  I  tell  you  so." 

*  The  Old  Regime,  Lady  Jackson,  vol.  i.,  p.  309. 


268        The  House  of  de  Mailly 

"  Be  considerate  this  time,  then.  Do  not  banish  him  a 
second  time.  Tell  me,  how  are  you  going  to  occupy  your- 
self to-day  ?  One  will  perish  of  ennui  here. " 

"One  must  expect  it.  Let  us  become  philosophers.  I 
am  going  to  write  presently  to  du  Plessis.  If  Claudine  de 
Tencin  is  in  the  city,  we  will  go  to  her.  She  will  not  refuse 
to  receive  me.  To-morrow — I  think  that  I  will  go  to  Fran- 
c.ois.  Yes,  I  mean  it.  Do  not  be  shocked.  To-day  I  de- 
spatch Fouchelet  to  Versailles  with  a  billet  to  Mme.  de 
Boufflers  to  send  me  my  furniture,  my  toys,  the  rest  of  my 
wardrobe,  the  dogs,  and — my  servants.  If  we  must  live 
here,  Elise,  we  will  do  so.  I  am  a  little  tired  of  camps  and 
of  being  continually  interested  in  guns  and  armaments; 
this  will  be  a  rest,  a  relief,  for  a  time.  And  after — when 
the  Court  returns — " 

"  Peste !    That  will  be  monstrous. " 

"Yes,"  responded  la  Chateauroux,  with  a  vague  smile, 
"that  will  be  hard.  We  shall  see,  however.  There  will 
be — always — Frangois.  Send  now  to  the  H6tel  de  Mailly 
and  have  Henri  come  to  dine  with  us — off  what  we  have!" 

Half  an  hour  later  Mme.  de  Chateauroux  sat  in  the  salon 
of  her  hotel  composing,  with  some  difficulty,  the  epistle  to 
Mme.  de  Boufflers,  who,  as  mistress  of  the  palace  of  the 
Queen,  was  obliged  to  remain  at  Versailles  during  the 
Queen's  absence.  It  was  not  an  easy  thing  to  make  ac- 
knowledgment of  her  disgrace  to  the  woman  who,  next 
to  herself,  was  the  haughtiest  at  Court.  But  the  letter  was 
written  in  some  way,  and  Fouchelet  directed  to  depart  with 
it  as  soon  as  he  had  finished  serving  dinner.  Then  Mme. 
de  Lauraguais  rejoined  her  sister,  and  they  sat  quiet,  to- 
gether, listening  to  the  hum  of  the  city,  the  city  of  the  world, 
around  them.  Presently  a  bell  sounded  below.  Some 
one  was  admitted.  The  two  listened  for  a  moment,  and 
then  Elise  rose  as  the  salon  door  opened  and  Henri  de 
Mailly-Nesle  came  in. 

"  Dear  Henri !     You  are  so  good !" 

"Elise!     You  are  well?" 

The  Marquis  embraced  the  Lauraguais  with  some  af- 


The   Disgrace  269 

fection,  and  then  turned  to  his  youngest  sister,  who  had 
not  risen. 

"Madame,  you  wished  me  to  come,  1  believe?"  he  asked, 
gravely. 

"  But  certainly !  It  is  three  months  that  we  have  not 
seen  each  other.  Is  it  so  unusual  that  1  wish  to  behold 
you  again?"  she  asked,  loftily.  It  was  not  often  that  Henri 
attempted  to  reprove  her  even  by  a  tone,  and  she  would  not 
permit  it  now. 

Her  manner  gave  her  brother  his  cue,  and,  with  a  mental 
shrug,  he  accepted  it.  His  manner  was  entirely  different 
as,  after  certain  conventional  remarks,  he  asked :  "  You 
have  not  heard,  perhaps,  of  the  return  of  M.  d'Agenois 
after  his  exile?" 

"  I  learned  it  this  morning,"  she  responded,  indifferently. 

"He  is  ill,  it  seems.  The  air  of  Paris  still  does  not 
agree  with  him."  Henri  took  a  meditative  pinch  of  snuff. 
"Apropos  of  d'Agenois,  Anne,  have  you  heard  from 
Claude?" 

"Claude!     No.     Surely  he  is  not  also  returned?" 

"  Not  he.  He  is  in  one  of  the  English  colonies  at  a  town 
with  some  impossible  Homeric  name." 

"Ah!  I  warned  him  that  he  would  perish  of  ennui 
among  those  savages." 

"  On  the  contrary,  he  would  appear,  from  a  letter  which 
I  have  received,  to  be  very  well  amused.  From  his  ac- 
counts he  has  met  there  some  delightful  people — a  charm- 
ing girl — by  name — peste!  I  forget  the  name — " 

"  It  is  no  matter.  Claude  among  the  bourgeois !  Who 
could  fancy  it?  Eh  bien,  let  us  dine." 

The  dinner  was  not  protracted,  for  none  of  the  three 
found  it  very  comfortable.  At  its  end  Mme.  de  Chateau- 
roux  rose  abruptly,  snapping  a  finger  for  Fouchelet,  and 
turning  to  her  brother  with  the  dismissing  command, 
"Summon  our  chairs,  Henri." 

Mailly-Nesle  went  off  obediently  to  see  that  the  chairs 
and  link-boys  were  ready,  while  the  sisters  adjusted  their 
scarfs  and  caps.  The  brother  handed  them  out,  gave 


270        The  House   of  de  Mailly 

directions  as  to  their  destination,  and  himself  started  to 
return  on  foot  to  his  hdtel.  The  ladies  were  going  to 
Mine,  de  Tencin,  who  lived  near  by,  not  far  from  the  Or- 
leans Palais  Royal.  Though  they  had  dined  at  an  un- 
conventionally late  hour,  it  was  not  yet  dark,  the  sunset 
just  fading  into  a  twilight  that  played  in  softening  shadows 
about  the  old  streets,  with  their  high,  gabled  wooden  houses, 
and  the  occasional  buildings  of  stone.  The  streets  were 
quiet,  for  all  Paris  was  at  supper.  A  few  chairs,  a  chaise 
or  two,  and  now  and  then  a  coach  with  some  familiar 
coat-of-arms  on  its  panels  passed  them.  Foot-passengers 
were  few.  In  crossing  the  Place  du  Palais  Royal,  however, 
Mme.  de  Chateauroux,  looking  out  of  the  open  window 
of  her  chair,  encountered  the  glance  of  a  priest  going  the 
opposite  way.  She  bowed,  and  he  uncovered  with  a  re- 
spect less  marked  than  usual,  walking  on  without  any 
attempt  to  speak  to  her.  It  was  the  Abbe  de  Bernis. 

"Victorine  is  here,  then,"  concluded  madame.  "I 
wonder  how  she  will  receive  me?"  And  at  the  question 
a  pang  smote  the  Duchess's  heart.  Her  fall  was  accom- 
plished; but  its  consequences  she  had  not  yet  endured. 

Twilight  rose  rapidly  now,  and  it  was  dark  enough  for 
the  torches  of  the  link-boys  to  be  lighted  by  the  time  the 
slow-moving  chairs  stopped  at  their  destination.  The  Hotel 
de  Tencin  was  not  imposing  from  the  outside.  It  was  nar- 
row and  high,  with  a  larger  building  close  on  either  hand. 
Inside,  however,  it  was.  furnished  like  a  palace,  and,  in- 
deed, most  of  the  guests  who  entered  it  spent  the  greater 
part  of  their  lives  in  or  about  the  abode  of  royalty. 

Claudine  Alexandrine  Guerin  de  Tencin,  the  foremost 
figure  in  the  salon  life  of  the  day,  was  a  devoted  friend 
to  Mme.  de  Chateauroux.  The  favorite's  grand  manner 
and  unapproachable  bearing  were  after  her  own  heart, 
and,  since  Marie  Anne's  accession  to  the  highest  post  at 
Court,  the  leader  of  the  salons  had  actually  curbed  her 
wit  on  behalf  of  her  friend,  and  refrained  from  two  excel- 
lent epigrams  that  would  have  seemed  to  slur  the  favorite's 
beauty  and  taste.  It  was  but  this  afternoon  that,  in  her 


The    Disgrace  271 

small  boudoir,  Mme.  de  Tencin,  with  Victorine  de  Coigny 
and  Francois  de  Bernis,  had  carried  on  a  very  animated 
discussion  relative  to  the  recent  affair  at  Metz.  After 
tea  the  abbe  returned  to  the  Lazariste,  while  Victorine, 
who  had  no  life  left  after  his  departure,  promised  to  re- 
main with  her  friend  during  the  evening. 

Paris  was  empty  at  this  season,  and  the  regular  salons 
were  closed.  The  Duchesse  du  Maine  had  carried  off  all 
her  pet  philosophers  and  literati  to  Sceaux.  That  small 
portion  of  the  Court  which  had  not  contrived  to  follow  the 
army  was  scattered  over  France.  The  very  Opera  was 
shut.  And  thus  Alme.  de  Tencin  and  Victorine  resigned 
themselves  to  the  most  stupid  of  evenings  after  their  small 
supper.  At  something  after  seven  o'clock,  however,  the 
first  valet  appeared  on  the  threshold  of  the  small  white- 
and-gold  room,  with  the  announcement : 

"The  Duchesse  de  Lauraguais.  The  Duchesse  de 
Chateauroux." 

Mme.  de  Tencin  sprang  to  her  feet.  From  just  outside 
came  the  stiff  rustle  of  feminine  garments. 

"Marie!" 

"Claudine!" 

The  two  women  flung  themselves  into  each  other's  arms, 
touched  cheeks,  first  on  one  side,  then  on  the  other,  and 
finally  Mme.  de  Tencin  held  the  Duchess  off  at  arm's- 
length,  gazed  at  her  through  a  river  of  tears,  and  mur- 
mured, in  a  transport  of  grief:  "My  poor  Anne!" 

"  Claudine !     Cl — audine !" 

Thereupon  Mme.  de  Chdteauroux  closed  her  eyes  and 
gracefully  fainted  away.  Elise  screamed.  Mme.  de  Ten- 
cin, with  moans  of  compassion,  supported  her  beloved 
friend,  and  Victorine,  shaking  with  inward  laughter, 
ran  away  for  sal  -  volatile,  a  glass  of  wine,  and  a  fan. 
When  she  returned  with  these  necessaries,  la  Chateauroux, 
reclining  upon  a  satin  sofa,  was  aristocratically  reviving. 
After  a  few  moments'  application  of  the.  fan  and  salts, 
coupled  by  the  consumption  of  the  cordial,  she  was  suf- 
ficiently restored  to  greet  Victorine  affectionately,  and  to 


272         The  House   of  de  Mailly 

recount,  with  a  thousand  airs  and  as  many  variations,  her 
own  story.  It  was  a  pathetic  recital.  Elise  wept  unre- 
strainedly, and  even  Mme.  de  Coigny  became  absorbed 
before  the  climax  was  reached. 

"  And  so,  actually,  it  was  Maurepas,  Anne,  who  betrayed 

you?" 

"  Actually,  ma  chere.  There  is  no  doubt  of  it.  I  have 
vowed  his  ruin/' 

"  If  any  one  could  accomplish  that,  you  are  certainly 
the  one  to  do  so.  But  he  is  called  indispensable  to  the 
ministry." 

"  He  is  the  most  implacable  enemy  in  the  world.  But — 
I  also  am  implacable,  Claudine." 

Mme.  de  Tencin  shook  her  head  and  reflected  mourn- 
fully. 

"What  will  you  do?"  inquired  Victorine,  with  some 
curiosity. 

"  I  ?   I  have  a  plan.    It  turns  upon — whom  do  you  think  ?" 

"I  never  think.     Tell  us  at  once.     I  burn  to  know." 

"Francois  d'Agenois." 

"Marie!" 

"Again!" 

The  latter  exclamation  came  from  Victorine.  The 
Duchess  smiled  at  her.  "Yes,  again.  The  first  time  he 
was  a  complete  success.  I  will  make  him  so  this  time." 

"Poor  boy!" 

"  Yes — he  will  be  banished  for  life.  But  there  is  no  one 
else." 

"What  a  pity  that  your  cousin,  Count  Claude,  is  still 
away." 

"  Ah,  yes.  Henri  says  that  he  is  in  America.  Imagine 
it.  However,  Claude  was  less  useful.  I  had  more  feel- 
ing for  him — my  cousin,  you  understand." 

"When  do  you  visit  the  Due  d'Agenois?" 

"Really,  I  do  not  know.  I  had  thought  of  to-night. 
That  would  be  a  romance,  would  it  not?  But  I  am  too 
fatigued.  Our  journey  from  Metz  was  frightful.  You 
cannot  conceive  it." 


The   Disgrace  273 

"  My  poor  darling !  But  do  let  us  have  some  amuse- 
ment. Victorine  is  in  despair.  There  are  no  men  in  the 
city." 

"I  saw  M.  de  Bernis  in  the  Place  du  Palais/'  ob- 
served Elise. 

Victorine  colored  delicately.  "Dear  Duchess,  he  is 
not  a  man.  He  is  a  priest,"  she  said,  lightly.  ' 

"  And  M.  de  Coigny — he  is  no  longer  a  man,  but  a  mar- 
shal," retorted  madame. 

This  time  the  little  Marquise  made  no  reply.  She  sud- 
denly turned  serious,  and  a  pause  crept  upon  the  four. 

Mme.  de  Tencin,  after  waiting  nearly  a  minute  for  some 
one  to  speak,  herself  exclaimed:  "Come,  let  us  play  at 
piquet.  It  is  the  only  thing  left.  Cavagnole  is  impos- 
sible. Mme.  de  Lauraguais,  1  leave  you  to  the  Marechale. 
Victorine,  you  will  be  becoming  a  second  Mirepoix  soon. 
Marie,  you  shall  play  with  me.  Come — the  tables  are 
here." 

La  Chateauroux  sighed.  She  intensely  disliked  cards. 
"Ah,  well — I  will  play  till  I  have  lost  ten  louis.  That 
— since  I  have  already  lost  one — is  all  that  I  can  afford. 
Then  we  will  go  home.  Francois  must  wait  till  to-morrow. " 

"Poor  man!" 

Mme.  de  Tencin  led  the  way  to  the  gaming-room,  which, 
to  tell  the  truth,  was  a  principal  feature  in  her  hotel ;  and 
here  the  four  ladies  seated  themselves  at  two  tables.  It 
took  Mme.  de  Chateauroux  a  little  more  than  an  hour  to 
lose  her  stipulated  sum,  for  stakes  among  women  are  not 
high.  That  being  done,  true  to  her  word,  she  rose. 

"  It  is  necessary  to  depart,  dear  Claudine.  I  am  fright- 
fully sleepy.  You  have  given  us  the  most  delightful 
evening  possible.  Come,  Elise,  finish  your  hand.  How 
much  have  you  won?  Come,  we  must  really  go." 

"  And  I  also,"  rejoined  Victorine,  rising  from  her  place. 

"There  is  wine  in  my  boudoir.  We  will  drink  to  you, 
Marie  Anne,  and  your  great  success  with  the  d'Agenois." 

So  they  all  rustled  back  to  the  little  salon,  adjusted 
their  very  light  wraps,  partook  of  the  liqueur  and  cakes 
18 


274        The  House    of  de  Mailly 

prepared,  and  then  departed ,  each  to  her  chair,  with  many 
affectionate  adieus.  Victorine,  yawning  mentally,  went 
her  way  to  her  lonely  abode  in  the  Rue  Fromentin,  while 
the  others  returned  to  the  Rue  du  Bac,  where  madame 
was  greeted  with  news  that  made  her  furious  with  mor- 
tification. Fouchelet  had  returned  from  Versailles  with 
the  word  from  Mme.  de  Boufflers  that  Mme.  de  Chateau- 
roux's  wardrobe  and  dogs  should  be  despatched  to  her 
on  the  following  day.  As  to  the  furniture  and  toys  in 
her  apartments,  and  her  private  chef  and  footmen,  they 
had  belonged  to  Mme.  de  Chateauroux  not  as  woman, 
but  as  favorite  of  his  Majesty.  They  were  really  the 
insignia  of  office,  and  no  longer  belonged  to  one  who  had 
been  publicly  dismissed  from  her  post. 

The  letter  in  which  these  things  were  said  was  perfect- 
ly cold,  perfectly  polite,  and  perfectly  unreasonable.  Its 
tone,  however,  was  not  to  be  mistaken.  It  was  the  first 
deep  wound  given  to  the  deposed  sub-queen,  and  its  sen- 
sation was  too  fresh  to  be  easily  borne.  At  something 
after  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  she  fell  into  an  unquiet 
sleep,  and  then  Mme.  de  Lauraguais,  who  had  attended 
her,  crept  away  to  her  own  room,  too  tired  to  scold  her 
maid. 

On  the  following  morning  la  Chateauroux  had,  ap- 
parently, recovered  from  her  chagrin.  She  ate  an  egg 
with  her  chocolate,  laughed  at  her  sister's  clouded  face, 
sent  Alexandre  to  a  furniture  house  with  orders  to  refurnish 
completely  her  present  abode,  advised  her  sis.ter  to  make 
a  round  of  the  toy -shops  that  morning,  and  at  eleven 
o'clock  re-dressed  herself  preparatory  to  the  forthcoming 
visit  to  her  old-time  lover. 

Francois  Emmanuel  Frederic,  Due  d'Agenois,  returned 
from  a  long  Italian  exile  to  Paris  and  fever,  had  left  his 
bed  this  morning  for  the  second  time,  and,  wrapped  in 
silken  dressing-gown  and  cap,  with  a  couvre-pied  to  cor- 
respond, reclined  upon  a  small  couch  in  his  most  comfort- 
able salon,  indulging  in  a  profound  fit  of  melancholy. 
His  history  certainly  warranted  an  occasional  turn  of 


The   Disgrace  275 

despair.  Unfortunate  enough  to  have  fallen  in  love  with 
her  who  was  destined  to  become  favorite  of  France ;  unwise 
enough  to  have  kept  his  passion  alight  in  defiance  of  the 
King  of  this,  his  adopted  country;  unforeseeing  enough 
to  have  offered  the  woman  marriage ;  by  all  these  things 
winning  a  two-years'  banishment;  he  had  now  been  absurd 
enough,  after  the  exile,  to  return  again  to  the  very  den  of 
the  lion.  More  than  this,  having,  even  in  illness,  learned 
the  story  of  the  disgrace  of  the  favorite  and  her  return 
to  Paris,  he  was  now  capping  the  climax  of  folly  by  daring 
to  wish — that  she  would  come  to  him.  What  benefit  he 
could  possibly  derive  from  such  a  proceeding,  the  rash 
youth  did  not  stop  to  consider.  He  only  lay  upon  his 
couch,  very  weak  in  body  and  very  flushed  of  countenance, 
hoping  one  moment,  utterly  despairing,  as  was  sensible,  the 
next.  Really,  according  to  Fate's  usual  laws,  the  idea  of 
her  coming  was  utterly  absurd.  And  yet  she  came.  About 
noon  d'Agenois  heard,  with  sharpened  ears,  the  great 
front  door  open  and  close.  Then  there  was  silence  again, 
while  he  nervously  fingered  the  tassels  of  his  gown  and 
stared  at  the  ceiling — more  hopeless  than  ever.  Presently 
his  valet  hurried  in,  with  an  anxious  expression  on  his 
lively  face.  Passing  to  his  master's  side,  he  whispered 
a  question  in  the  Duke's  ear. 

"See  her!"  cried  d'Agenois,  leaping  up.  " Nom  de 
Dieu,  Jean,  fly!  Fly,  I  tell  you!  Admit  her  —  admit 
her — admit  her — " 

Jean  ran  back  across  the  room,  pushed  open  the  door, 
and  stood  aside.  Mme.  de  Chateauroux,  clothed  in  clouds 
of  white  muslin  that  floated  about  her  in  fold  after  fold, 
luminous,  filmy,  her  golden  hair  unpowdered,  curling  upon 
her  shoulders,  her  eyes  lustrous>  an  expression  of  tender 
melancholy  on  her  face,  appeared  on  the  threshold,  framed 
in  the  bright  sunshine  that  streamed  through  the  windows. 

"Anne!"  The  man  gave  a  faint  cry  and  began  to 
move  towards  her,  dizzily,  both  arms  outstretched.  He 
had  loved  her  faithfully  throughout  the  two  years.  Had 
he  not  a  right  to  tremble  now,  at  their  reunion? 


276         The    House    of  de    Mailly 

The  Duchess  smiled  slowly  into  his  eyes,  and  moved 
towards  him  in  a  fashion  peculiar  to  herself,  not  walking, 
floating  rather. 

"  Anne,  you  are  not  changed — you  are  not  changed  at 
all.  You  are  just  as  I  have  thought  of  you.  You  are 
my  angel.  You  came — you  did  not  forget — I  have  been 
so  ill,  have  suffered  so.  Ah,  you  are  adorable!" 

With  nervous  eagerness  he  drew  her  to  the  sofa  beside 
him,  and  sat  looking  into  her  face,  delightedly  noting  every 
feature,  every  shining  hair  tendril,  counting  the  very 
breaths  that  passed  her  lips.  Madame,  who  had  known 
him  so  well  in  the  old  days,  who  thought  of  him  always 
as  one  much  younger  than  herself,  ran  her  fingers  through 
his  dark  hair,  smoothed  the  forehead  that  was  so  hot, 
and  insisted  on  his  lying  down  again.  This  being  ac- 
complished, she  seated  herself  near  him,  one  of  his 
hands  fast  holding  hers,  his  eyes  smiling  up  at  her. 

"You  know  my  story — that  I  am  nothing,  now,  Fran- 
c.ois?"  she  asked. 

"I  know  only  that  you  are  my  angel,  Anne.  What 
more  could  1  wish?" 

Thus  this  first  visit  passed  off  to  the  highest  satisfac- 
tion of  madame.  D'Agenois  had  always  pleased  her, 
was  ever  obedient  to  her  way  of  thinking,  was  singularly 
unselfish  and  unsuspicious,  and  his  blind  devotion  to 
her  was  perhaps  the  only  reason  why  she  did  not  care  for 
him  as  she  had  seemed  to  care  for  Louis  of  France.  The 
young  Duke  was,  moreover,  still  far  from  well ;  and  la 
Chateauroux  was  enough  of  a  woman  to  have  a  taste  for 
humoring  a  patient  who  threw  himself,  utterly  regardless 
of  consequences,  upon  her  mercy.  The  first,  then,  became 
the  beginning  of  an  infinite  series  of  visits,  none  of  which 
was  short.  Madame  had  not  been  in  Paris  a  week  before 
she  discovered  that  nothing  but  the  boldest  possible  course 
was  open  to  her  now.  The  story  of  her  dismissal  from 
Metz,  exaggerated  in  every  way,  was  discussed  from 
palace  to  fish-market.  She  was  pointed  out  in  the  streets 
and  accosted  with  insulting  remarks.  The  haute  bour- 


The    Disgrace  277 

geoisie  itself  sneered  at  her,  and  as  for  the  noblesse,  those 
who  in  the  old  days  had  schemed  for  weeks  to  obtain  an 
invitation  to  her  salon,  could  now  have  seen  the  moons  of 
Saturn  with  the  naked  eye  more  easily  than  they  would 
behold  Mme.  de  Chateauroux  in  her  chair.  Mme.  de 
Mailly-Nesle  refused  to  admit  either  sister  to  her  hdtel. 
Henri  at  intervals  went  to  the  Rue  du  Bac  out  of  duty, 
not  pleasure.  Mme.  de  Tencin,  while  she  frequently 
summoned  both  sisters  to  her  side  when  she  was  alone,  was 
always  singularly  unable  to  receive  Madame  la  Duchesse 
during  one  of  her  evenings.  Of  all  the  former  friends 
and  sycophants, Victorine  de  Coigny  was  the  single  person 
who  allowed  herself  to  be  seen  in  all  places,  at  all  hours, 
with  the  deposed  favorite,  without  finding  her  popularity 
thereby  lessened.  But  the  little  Mar£chale  was  a  peculiar 
case.  It  was  her  role  to  be  unusual,  unconventional; 
and  this  one  thing  added  to  her  risque  list  could  not  harm 
her.  Even  had  there  been  danger  in  it,  Victorine  would 
have  clung  to  the  other  woman,  for  the  sake  of  their  old 
friendship.  But  Victorine  had  a  rash  nature. 

Amid  her  little  turmoil  Marie  Anne  moved  with  apparent 
serenity.  Certainly  her  world,  what  part  of  it  was  still  in 
Paris,  must  at  first  have  suspected  the  pangs  of  mortifica- 
tion that  they  daily  caused  her.  But,  so  far  as  outward 
evidence  was  concerned,  there  was  none.  A  woman  who 
had  had  the  wit  and  the  unscrupulous  fortitude  to  attain  to 
the  position  once  occupied  by  Marie  Anne  de  Mailly-Nesle, 
possessed  enough  strength  of  character  to  accept  the  cir- 
cumstances attendant  on  her  fall  with  excellent  philosophy. 
She  was  the  talk  of  all  Paris,  of  Versailles,  and  of  Sceaux. 
Her  attitude  was  unceasingly  watched  and  commented  on ; 
and,  after  two  weeks,  a  new  idea  began  to  dawn  in  the  va- 
rious salons.  It  was  the  startling  one  that  madame  had 
found  a  new  string  for  her  straightened  bow.  The  idea 
originated  when,  one  evening  at  the  H6tel  du  Tours,  the 
discovery  was  made  that  five  people,  on  five  consecutive 
days,  had  seen  the  chair  of  Mme.  de  Chateauroux  waiting 
in  the  Rue  de  1'Eveque  at  the  door  of  the  d'Agenois  hotel. 


278         The  House   of  de  Mailly 

Three  of  these  people,  moreover,  had  seen  her  herself  issue 
from  the  hotel  door,  had  refused  recognition  to  her,  and 
gone  their  ways.  The  salon  of  M.  Vauvenargues  gasped. 
What  a  plan  of  action !  How  daring !  How  truly  like  the 
whilom  favorite!  Was  she  in  love  with  him,  after  all? 
What  were  the  arms  of  Chateauroux  and  d'Agenois?  Were 
the  quarterings  harmonious?  By  the  middle  of  September 
the  wedding  was  discussed  as  a  surety,  and  many  a  grande 
dame  wondered  if  she  might  not  throw  hauteur  to  the  winds 
and  go.  Who  would  not  wish  to  study  the  bridal  dress? 
And  then — after — question  of  questions! — what  would 
accrue  when  his  Majesty  returned?  The  salons  gasped 
again,  wondered,  and  waited. 

Matters  also  waited  for  some  time.  There  occurred  one 
of  those  aggravatingly  hopeless  stand-stills  when  society 
purfled  and  shrugged  and  created  fireless  smoke  at  a  rate 
which  science  could  not  easily  measure.  No  wedding  an- 
nouncement was  made;  neither  did  his  Majesty  return  to 
Paris.  Fribourg  had  proved  to  be  a  city  possessed  of  rather 
better  resources  of  defence  than  the  Court  before  its  walls 
had  of  amusement.  After  two  weeks  of  cannonading 
and  unsuccessful  sorties  on  the  part  of  the  besieged,  the 
Court  grew  very  bored  indeed,  and  most  of  the  ladies  fol- 
lowed her  Majesty  back  to  France.  If  the  Queen  had 
wished  to  stay  longer  at  Louis'  side,  she  did  not  voice  the 
wish,  for  her  husband  entertained  a  different  notion.  Among 
the  few  departing  gentlemen  was  a  certain  M.  Lenormand 
d'Etioles,  a  nonentity  to  history,  who  very  joyfully  accom- 
panied his  wife  away  from  the  occasional  sight  of  his 
Majesty,  to  an  estate  at  Meudon,  where  madame  deigned 
to  reside  for  one  month. 

The  last  siege  of  the  campaign  was  at  last  triumphant- 
ly concluded  on  the  28th  day  of  October,  and  three  days 
later  came  the  first  rumor  of  the  King's  approaching 
return  to  Paris.  France  received  the  news  with  hysterical 
joy.  It  was  odd,  considering  his  ways,  how  universally 
adored  throughout  his  youth  this  King  was.  To  his  peo- 
ple he  was  a  warrior  hero.  And,  indeed,  his  personality, 


The   Disgrace  279 

since  the  first  time  that  he  had  appeared  in  public,  in  a 
golden  robe  one  yard  long,  with  violet  leading-strings 
about  his  little  shoulders,  had  been  beautiful  enough  to 
inspire  worship.  The  portraits  of  his  old  age  are  hideous 
enough ;  but  that  of  Vanloo,  which  the  great  painter  de- 
clared he  could  not  do  justice  to,  is  the  one  which  should 
stand  out  above  all  others  as  the  true  picture  of  this  King 
of  lotus-eaters.  Preparations  were  made  to  give  his  Maj- 
esty, and  what  of  the  army  was  with  him,  a  magnificent 
reception.  An  evening  procession  was  arranged,  during 
which  all  Paris  and  her  river  were  literally  to  roll  in  fire. 
The  Faubourg  St.  Antoine  turned  out  en  masse  for  the 
occasion,  and,  stranger  still,  not  a  noble  in  the  city  but 
contributed  certain  louis  d'or  for  fireworks,  and  arranged 
windows  and  a  party  to  view  the  procession. 

Mme.  de  Chateauroux  was  addressed  by  no  one  on  the 
subject  of  these  preparations.  The  royal  coach  would 
pass  neither  the  Rue  du  Bac  nor  the  Rue  de  I'Ev^que. 
Mme.  de  Mailly-Nesle  did  not  dream  of  asking  her  sister- 
in-law  to  sit  at  her  windows  overlooking  the  Pont  Royal, 
which  Louis  must  cross  on  his  way  to  the  Tuileries.  But 
even  »had  the  invitation  been  given,  the  Duchess  would 
have  refused  it.  It  was  not  in  her  plan  that  the  King 
should  find  her  face  among  those  of  the  throng;  but 
eagerly  she  prayed  that  its  absence  might  be  felt. 

"Francois,  upon  the  I3th  of  November  I  shall  stay 
all  day  here  with  you.  Nay,  better,  you  shall  come  to  me, 
and  I  will  serve  you  such  a  little  supper  as — " 

"  Anne !     Who  could  touch  food  in  thy  presence?" 

Madame  smiled  at  him,  and  they  ceased  to  speak.  They 
could  sit  silent  now  for  uncounted  minutes,  madame  know- 
ing every  thought  that  flitted  through  the  brain  of  the 
young  man;  d'Agenois  fancying,  perhaps,  that  he  knew 
as  much  of  the  Duchess.  If  this  were  not  so,  what  mat- 
tered it?  He  was  supremely  happy.  He  had  lost  all  jeal- 
ousy, even  of  royalty,  for  he  willingly  believed  what  she 
told  him  with  every  look :  that  she  loved  him,  only,  at  last. 

At  the  time  of  their  short  conversation  relative  to  the 


280        The  House   of  de  Mailly 

home-coming  of  the  King,  they  were  in  the  Hotel  d'  Agenois, 
returned  half  an  hour  before  from  a  drive.  The  Duke 
lay  upon  a  couch,  idly  watching  his  companion,  who  sat 
toying  with  a  bit  of  decoupure,  her  back  to  the  windows, 
a  soft  light  falling  upon  her  hair  and  shoulders.  It  had 
been  a  quiet  half-hour,  and  madame  was  beginning  to  be 
tired.  She  was  contemplating  a  return  to  her  own  hdtel, 
when  an  interruption  occurred.  Some  one  was  admitted 
below.  Some  one  came  hurriedly  up-stairs,  and  Mme. 
de  Lauraguais,  unannounced,  ran  into  the  room. 

"My  dear  Elise!  Your  breath  is  quite  gone!  Is  there 
a  fire — a  scandal — a  death?" 

"None  of  them.  Wait!"  She  sank  into  a  chair  to 
regain  her  breath,  while  Francois  sounded  a  gong,  intend- 
ing to  order  wine. 

"  It  is  only  Henri,  who  sends  us  an  urgent  note  to  come 
at  once  to  his  hdtel.  I  received  it,  and  came  for  you.  The 
coach  is  outside.  He  sent  it." 

Madame  shrugged.  "What  startling  thing  can  have 
happened?"  she  said,  smiling.  "Perhaps  Laure  is  dying, 
and  wishes  for  me.  However,  I- come." 

And,  after  a  gentle  farewell  for  the  day  to  d' Agenois, 
madame  went.  The  Mailly-Nesle  coach  bore  the  two 
ladies  at  a  rapid  pace  across  the  Rue  St.  Honore1,  out  upon 
the  quay  and  on  to  the  Pont  Royal,  on  the  opposite  side  of 
which,  just  across  from  the  Theatins,  was  the  H6tel  de 
Mailly.  During  the  drive  the  sisters  scarcely  spoke.  Mme. 
de  Chateauroux  certainly  did  not  seem  curious  as  to  the 
reason  for  Henri's  imperative  summons.  To  tell  the  truth, 
she  was  not  thinking  of  it.  She  was  finishing  a  dream. 

Henri  himself  met  them  at  his  door,  smiled  at  Marie 
Anne's  languid  greeting,  refused  to  reply  to  the  eager  ques- 
tion of  Elise,  but  conducted  them  rapidly  up-stairs  into  the 
grand  salon.  Here  stood  the  Marquise,  Henri's  wife,  with 
two  people,  a  man  and  a  woman.  As  she  caught  sight  of 
the  man's  face,  Mme.  de  Chateauroux  gave  a  little  cry, 
and  turned  suddenly  colorless. 

"Claude!"  she  said. 


The   Disgrace  281 

Claude  came  forward,  raising  her  hand  to  his  lips,  and 
saluting  Mme.  de  Lauraguais,  who  was  staring  at  him  as 
at  one  raised  from  the  dead. 

Then  de  Mailly  went  back,  and  took  the  woman  by  the 
hand.  A  slight,  straight,  girlish  figure  she  had,  a  fair 
complexion,  and  a  pair  of  large  grayish  eyes,  that  were 
presently  lifted  to  the  face  of  la  Chateauroux. 

"Anne,"  said  Claude,  quietly,  "let  me  make  known  to 
you  my  wife." 

"Your  wife!" 

Deborah,  with  rather  a  pathetic  little  smile,  courtesied 
low. 


CHAPTER    III 

November   Thirteenth 

T  was  thus  that  Claude  brought  home  his 
wife.  Two  months  before  he  had  been  mar- 
ried to  her  in  Dr.  Carroll's  chapel  by  Aime 
St.  Quentin,  with  all  Annapolis  to  witness; 
and  next  day  he  left  America  on  the  Balti- 
more, in  company  with  Deborah,  and  her  very  modest 
little  travelling  coffer.  Truly  bridal  weather  was  theirs. 
The  skies  were  fair,  seas  calmly  blue,  and  continuous 
light  western  winds,  sent  by  the  very  gods  themselves, 
carried  them  straight  to  the  English  coast.  All  told,  they 
were  on  the  ship  but  six  weeks — six  strange,  half-terrible 
weeks  to  the  colonial  girl.  She  was  learning  to  know 
her  husband,  and  he  her.  In  a  way,  not  always,  but  by 
spells,  Deborah  was  happy.  She  loved  the  sea,  and  she 
grew  to  be  very  fond  of  the  ship,  clinging  to  it  during  the 
last  days  of  the  voyage  as  she  had  not  clung  to  her  far 
Maryland  home.  She  had  become  dimly  apprehensive 
of  the  life  into  which  she  was  going,  of  which  Claude  had 
lately  told  her  so  much  more  than  he  could  do  during  their 
comradeship  in  Annapolis.  He  also  made  her  speak 
with  him  much  in  the  French  tongue,  which  she  did  readily 
enough  at  first,  in  a  manner  caught  from  St.  Quentin,  her 
first  instructor.  But  when  it  came  to  using  no  English, 
to  hearing  none  from  Claude,  her  tongue  faltered,  and 
she  would  remain  silent  for  hours  at  a  time  rather  than 
appear  awkward  before  him.  Claude  was  very  gentle. 
He  made  her  finally  understand,  however,  how  much 
easier  it  would  be  for  her  to  make  mistakes  now,  than  to 
do  so  in  the  land  to  which  they  were  going.  He  told  her 


November   Thirteenth  283 

the  story  of  Marie  Leczinska,  who  had  acquired  all  her 
knowledge  of  the  language  of  her  adopted  country  from  a 
waiting-maid  who  spoke  a  Provencal  patois,  and  how  the 
Queen  was  ridiculed  by  all  the  Court  till  she  studied  secretly, 
many  hours  a  day,  with  her  confessor,  and  was  now,  when 
she  chose  to  exert  herself,  one  of  the  most  excellent  linguists 
in  France.  So  Deborah  took  heart,  and  tried  more  bravely, 
until,  by  the  time  they  had  crossed  the  English  Channel 
and  landed  in  Calais,  none  but  a  close  observer  could  have 
found  a  flaw  in  her  ordinary  conversation. 

Claude  de  Mailly  himself  passed  a  very  contented  six 
weeks  on  the  Atlantic.  A  day  or  two  after  his  marriage 
the  realization  of  that  marriage,  its  haste,  its  rashness, 
its  short-sightedness,  the  fact  that  his  wife  had  not  one 
drop  of  blue  blood  in  her  veins,  came  over  him  in  such  a 
wave  that  he  wras  half  drowned.  What  was  it  that  he  had 
done?  Who  was  he  carrying  back  with  him  to  the  most 
fastidious,  the  most  critical  Court  in  Christendom?  A 
bourgeois!  A  Provencal!  A  child!  And  Claude,  with 
angry,  anxious  injustice,  for  three  days  avoided  his  wife, 
and  barely  saw  her  except  at  meals.  The  thing  that  re- 
attracted  his  attention  to  her  was  the  fact  that,  during 
this  time,  Deborah  never  made  the  slightest  attempt  to 
force  her  presence  upon  him.  If  she  were  unhappy,  he 
did  not  know  it.  He  never  saw  her  weep;  he  heard  no 
word  of  complaint.  And  this  unusual  thing  piqued  his 
interest.  On  the  fourth  morning  he  found  her  sitting  alone 
in  the  stern  of  the  vessel,  gazing  back  at  the  western 
horizon  with  far-off  eyes.  Seating  himself  beside  her,  he 
leaned  over  and  took  one  of  her  hands  in  his.  She  turned 
towards  him  instantly,  looked  at  him  for  a  moment,  and 
then  drew  it  quietly  away. 

"You  needn't  do  that,"  she  said. 

And  then  it  was  that  Claude  knew  how  glad  he  was  to 
do  it — to  have  the  right  to  do  it.  And  thereupon  he  threw 
care  to  the  winds  and  became  her  slave.  He,  too,  regretted 
the  end  of  the  voyage,  when  it  came.  Nevertheless,  he  had, 
in  the  past,  suffered  severely  from  homesickness,  and 


284         The  House   of  de  Mailly 

Paris,  Versailles,  Henri,  Elise,  and,  more  than  all  of  them 
together,  his  other  cousin,  were  constantly  in  his  mind. 
He  dreamed  and  talked  of  them  when  he  slept,  and,  if 
Deborah  had  been  proficient  enough  in  French  to  make 
out  the  half-coherent  sentences  that  passed  her  husband's 
lips  at  night,  she  would  probably  have  learned  still  more 
about  her  approaching  life  in  this  way. 

Unquestionably,  Deborah  dreaded  the  new  life.  She 
had  reason  to;  not  alone  because  of  the  natural  shyness 
attendant  on  a  country  girl's  first  appearance  at  a  great 
Court.  She  knew  that  Claude's  whole  existence  was 
bound  up  there.  She  believed  that  he  cared  rather  more 
than  he  actually  did  about  this  life  that  she  had  never  lived. 
In  consequence,  upon  the  drive  of  several  days  from  Calais 
to  Paris,  Deborah  grew  more  and  more  silent,  more  and 
more  definitely  apprehensive,  with  each  new  stage.  On 
the  evening  of  November  8th  they  arrived  at  Issy, 
and  there  spent  the  night.  Next  morning  Claude  rose 
with  the  sun,  some  time  before  Deborah  even  awoke.  He 
went  outside  of  their  post-house  and  walked  delightedly 
through  the  familiar  streets,  listening  to  his  own  language 
spoken  with  his  own  accent  on  every  hand,  discovering 
well-known  shops  and  buildings,  and  returning  in  the 
highest  spirits  to  Deborah  at  nine  o'clock.  They  had 
their  chocolate  and  rolls  together,  Deborah  eating  little 
and  silently,  Claude  jesting  and  laughing  continually  till 
she  was  roused  out  of  her  apathy  by  his  thoughtlessness 
towards  her.  It  was  not,  however,  till  they  were  rolling 
along  the  Paris  road  that  she  spoke — in  English : 

"Well,  Claude,  you  have  brought  your  Madame  the 
Countess  home  to  the  King.  He'll  be  satisfied,  I  hope." 

Apparently  both  the  allusion  and  the  bitterness  were 
lost  upon  him.  He  only  answered  with  a  bright  smile: 
"I  am  satisfied,  my  Deborah.  What  the  King  thinks 
is  not  my  concern.  Oh,  I  had  not  told  you,  had  I? — 
that  the  King  is  not  here.  He  is  coming  home  with 
the  army  next  Saturday,  the  I3th,  from  Strasbourg.  You 
know  he  has  been  fighting  all  summer.  They  are  going 


November   Thirteenth  285 

to  give  him  a  triumph  on  his  return.  There  will  be  a 
procession  through  the  street,  and  the  King  will  ride  in  it. 
You  will  see  him  then,  Deborah.  Shall  you  like  it  all?" 

"I — don't  know.  I  never  saw  a  king,"  responded  the 
girl,  interested  in  spite  of  herself  in  the  anticipation  of 
these  hitherto  scarcely  dreamed-of  glories. 

At  half-past  eleven  o'clock  their  chaise  passed  the  bar- 
rier, and  they  rolled  down  the  narrow  street  towards  the 
river,  in  Paris  at  last.  Claude  himself  was  quiet  now. 
He  was  a  little  anxious;  he  could  not  be  sure  just  what 
he  should  find  "at  home."  Moreover,  the  familiar  streets 
and  sounds  no  longer  raised  his  spirits.  Instead,  they 
came  so  near  to  bringing  tears  to  his  eyes,  that  he  was 
relieved  when  Deborah  asked : 

"Where  are  we  going?    To  another  inn?" 

"I  am  not  sure.  I  have  directed  the  man  to  the  H6tel 
de  Mailly.  But,  if  no  one  is  there,  we  must  go  to  an 
inn.  Look,  Deborah,  there  is  the  Seine,  there  is  the  Pont 
Royal,  and  there,  just  ahead,  is  Henri's  house,  where 
we  are  going.  Are  you  glad — little  one?" 

It  was  half -past  ten  o'clock  that  night  before  Claude 
and  his  wrife  were  again  alone  together.  They  had  left 
the  salon  thus  early  through  weariness,  leaving  the  rest 
of  the  family  party  to  disband  as  it  would.  Neither  the 
Count  nor  Deborah  spoke  till  the  suite  of  apartments  as- 
signed them  on  the  second  floor  had  been  gained  and 
the  door  to  their  antechamber  closed.  Deborah  was  going 
on  to  what  she  supposed  must  be  their  bedroom,  when 
Claude  caught  her  hand. 

"Surely  you  are  going  to  say  good-night?"  he  asked, 
smiling. 

"Good-night!  Why  —  I  don't  understand,"  she  said, 
quickly. 

Of  a  sudden  the  smile  left  Claude's  face.  He  had  not 
thought  of  this  before.  "There,  Debby,  is  your  room 
— on  this  side  is  mine.  A  maid  whom  Mme.  de  Mailly- 
Nesle  has  kindly  lent  you  is  waiting  for  you.  Henri's 


286         The  House   of  de  Mailly 

valet  is  there — where  I  sleep.  We  do  not  occupy  the  same 
room.  It — it  is  not  the  custom.  Therefore  sit  here  with 
me  for  a  few  moments,  and  tell  me — how  you  like  them 
all — my  family?" 

Deborah  stared  at  him  in  bewilderment  during  the 
explanation ;  but,  true  to  her  nature,  she  accepted  it  with- 
out comment,  permitting  herself  to  be  drawn  down  upon 
the  little  sofa  where  he  sat,  and  passively  leaving  her 
hands  in  his. 

"Tell  me  now — do  you  like  them?" 

Deborah  hesitated.  "What  mistakes  did  I  make?"  she 
asked,  finally. 

"  Not  one,  my  Deborah,  save  that  you  were  not  insolent 
enough." 

She  smiled  faintly.     "I  like  Monsieur  le  Marquis." 

"And  he  you!  Yes,  you  must  love  him  for  my  sake. 
He  is  more  than  my  brother.  And  his  wife?" 

"  Is  she  his  wife,  Claude?  Why  does  he  always  call  her 
madame?  Why  did  you  call  me  madame?  And  she  treat- 
ed him  so — so  formally." 

"  Parbleu !  you  are  right ;  they  do  not  know  each  other 
very  well,  else  she  could  hardly  help  loving  him ;  and  she 
would  not  be  so  bourgeois  as  that!  Do  you  like  her? 
She  was  kinder  to  you,  Debby,  than  I  have  ever  seen  her 
to  any  woman.  Answer  me — dost  like  her?" 

"Yes — I  liked  her.  She  never  looked  at  me  when  she 
spoke,  and  she  scarcely  spoke  to  any  one  else." 

"  True.  She  does  not  approve  them.  But  Elise — Mme. 
de  Lauraguais — " 

"Yes,  she  is  very  pleasant,  and  a  little  pretty,  too." 

"  And  now — now — you  met  Mme.  de  Chateauroux.  What 
do  you  think  of  her?"  Claude  asked  the  question  firmly, 
after  a  struggle  with  himself. 

Deborah  turned  crimson,  and  started  to  rise  from  her 
place,  but  de  Mailly  gently  held  her  back.  He  would  have 
his  answer ;  and  it  was  given  him.  After  all,  he  had  mar- 
ried a  woman,  and  one  whose  feelings,  though  often  un- 
expressed, were  none  the  less  acute.  She  voiced  them  now. 


November   Thirteenth  287 

"  Claude — I  hate  her !  She  is  not  pretty.  Her  face  is  hid- 
eous !  She  was  rude  to  me,  to  her  sister,  to  the  Marquise, 
to  every  one  but  you.  And  you  sat  beside  her  almost  the 
whole  afternoon.  Ah !  I  cannot  bear  her !  Mme.  de 
Mailly  told  me  why  she  was  in  Paris,  how  she  had  been 
made  to  leave  the  King.  Claude,  are  you  not  ashamed 
that  she  is  of  your  blood?" 

Deborah  was  on  her  feet  now,  and  flung  her  words  straight 
at  her  husband.  He  sat  silent,  quite  still,  rather  pale, 
through  the  outburst.  After  it  he  did  not  answer  her 
question,  but  only  murmured  to  himself,  "  Why  do  women 
so  seldom  like  her?"  Then,  looking  up  at  his  wife,  he 
said,  kindly : 

"Deborah,  you  know  that  I  have  always  been  fond  of 
my  cousin.  1 — have  been  very  proud  of  her.  So  have  we 
all.  Was  it  unnatural  that  she  should  wish  to  talk  with 
me  after  we  had  been  separated  for  so  long?" 

Deborah  jerked  her  head  impatiently.  "I  do  not  like 
her,"  she  reiterated,  with  dogged  displeasure. 

Claude  rose,  with  a  faint  sigh.  "  Your  French  was  won- 
derfully good.  1  was  very  pleased,  dear.  To-morrow — 
you  shall  have  some  costumes  ordered.  Naturally,  yours 
are  a  little  ancient  in  mode.  Good-night." 

"Good-night." 

He  kissed  her  upon  the  forehead,  and  would  have  turned 
away,  but  that  suddenly  she  flung  her  arms  about  his  neck 
passionately,  and,  raising  her  lips  to  his  ear,  whispered: 
"Claude — Claude — 1  am  a  stranger  here.  You  are  all  I 
have  of — the  old  life.  Be — be  kind  to  me. " 

It  was  almost  the  first  emotion  that  he  had  ever  seen  her 
display,  and  his  heart  was  warm  as  he  took  her  tenderly 
into  his  arms  again,  whispering  such  words  as  only  lovers 
know.  Five  minutes  later  Deborah  crept  away  to  her  room 
happier  than  she  had  been  before  upon  the  soil  of  France  ; 
and  not  even  the  somewhat  terrifying  stiffness  of  madame's 
maid,  nor  the  loneliness  of  this  strange  room,  had  power 
to  banish  the  memory  of  her  husband's  good-night. 

The   four   succeeding   days   passed   both   rapidly  and 


288         The  House   of  de  Mailly 

slowly.  From  late  morning  till  late  night  Deborah's 
hours  were  filled.  She  and  Claude  were  to  remain  at  the 
Hotel  de  Mailly  till  the  return  of  the  King,  after  which 
they  would  take  an  apartment  in  Versailles.  For  the 
purpose  of  selecting  one,  they  went  together  to  the  little 
city  on  Thursday.  In  the  Rue  Anjou,  near  the  piece  des 
Suisses,  they  discovered  a  very  pretty  abode  in  the  sec- 
ond floor  of  a  house — rooms  once  occupied  by  the  Chev- 
alier de  Rohan,  of  duelistic  fame,  furnished  and  hung  in 
perfect  taste,  with  precisely  the  number  of  rooms  desired. 
Then  Deborah  went  to  see  the  monstrous,  silent  palace  and 
park;  after  which  she  and  Claude  dined  together  at  a  caf6 
in  the  open  air,  quite  a  la  bourgeois,  somewhat  to  the  un- 
spoken apprehension  of  Claude,  who  was  not  pleased  with 
the  unconventional  affair,  which,  however,  unduly  delight- 
ed his  wife.  They  returned  to  Paris  in  the  early  evening 
by  coach,  well  satisfied  with  the  day.  To  Deborah's  con- 
sternation, Claude  next  engaged  a  maid  for  her,  a  woman  • 
whom  she  was  supposed  to  command  at  will,  who  was  to 
dress  and  undress  her,  arrange  her  coiffure  in  the  absence 
of  the  regular  hair  -  dresser,  care  for  her  wardrobe,  and 
conduct  madame's  affairs  of  the  heart  with  discretion. 
To  the  little  Countess's  great  delight,  however,  her  first 
person  in  this  line  left  her  service  after  three  days,  for  the 
reason  that  Mme.  de  Mailly  seemed  too  devoted  to  monsieur 
the  husband,  and,  in  consequence,  there  were  no  chances 
for  fees  of  secrecy  such  as  she  was  accustomed  to  count 
upon  as  among  her  perquisites  of  office.  By  the  time  of 
their  removal  to  Versailles,  another  attendant  had  been 
found  who  pleased  her  mistress  better.  Julie  was  lively, 
young,  rather  pretty,  and  not  long  from  the  provinces.  If 
her  modes  for  hair  and  panniers  were  not  so  Parisian  as 
those'  of  her  predecessor,  at  least  she  and  young  Mme.  de 
Mailly  took  a  fancy  to  each  other  from  the  first,  and  Deb- 
orah was  more  than  content.  Meantime  Claude  had  hap- 
pily discovered  and  re-engaged  his  former  valet,  and  thus, 
with  the  addition  of  a  chef  and  scullion  and  two  lackeys, 
their  little  menage  would  be  complete.  Before  all  these 


November   Thirteenth  289 

matters  were  arranged,  however,  the  Marquise  de  Mailly- 
Nesle,  who  had  taken  an  unaccountable  fancy  to  Claude's 
wife,  accompanied  Deborah  to  a  milliner,  to  whom  was 
intrusted  the  task  of  preparing  a  wardrobe  for  the  Countess. 
Deborah  watched  the  selections  with  delight  and  a  secret 
consternation.  Could  Claude  afford  such  things,  and 
such  an  infinite  variety  of  them?  Finally,  unable  to 
hold  her  peace  about  the  matter,  she  drew  the  Marquise 
one  side,  and  stammered  out  the  question  of  prices  with 
pretty  embarrassment. 

"Mon  Dieu!  child,  why  should  I  ask  prices?  If  the  bill 
is  reasonable,  be  assured  that  Claude  will  pay.  If  it  is  too 
large — pouf! — he  will  refuse  to  look  at  it  I  That  is  all. 
Do  not  be  alarmed." 

Deborah,  surprised  and  disturbed,  felt  that  she  must  stop 
proceedings  at  once,  for  the  Maryland  school  of  economy 
had  been  strict.  But  a  shimmering  blue  satin,  with  cloth 
of  silver  for  petticoat,  and  ruffles  of  Venice  point,  was  now 
under  consideration.  Blue  was  her  own  color.  She  had 
never  worn  satin  in  her  life — and  dearly  she  loved  its  en- 
ticing swish.  Why,  unless  Claude  forbade,  should  she  re- 
fuse it?  And  Claude  did  not  forbid.  When  she  confessed 
her  doubts  during  their  anteroom  conference  that  evening, 
he  laughed  at  her,  cried  that  she  should  live  in  blue  satin 
if  she  chose,  and  asked  what  she  was  to  wear  on  the  mor- 
row at  the  royal  procession. 

"Oh — it  is  something  that  madame  got  at  once — white 
silk  brocaded  with  pink  flowers,  and  a  petticoat  with  lace. 
And  I  am  to  have  a  lace  cap  with  pink  ribbons. " 

"  Charming — and  good-night.  Sleep  late  to-morrow,  in 
preparation." 

Upon  this  Saturday,  the  I3th  of  November,  Paris  did  not 
wake  up  until  afternoon.  By  two  o'clock,  however,  St. 
Antoine  had  left  its  domicile  and  was  dispersing  itself  in 
unkempt  groups  along  those  streets  which,  as  it  had  been 
posted,  his  Majesty  would  ride  through  in  his  triumphant 
home-coming,  on  his  way  to  the  Tuileries.  Marie  Lec- 
zinska  and  the  Dauphin  spent  the  morning  in  prayer,  and 
19 


290        The  House   of  de  Mailly 

were  off  together,  after  a  hurried  dinner,  to  join  their  lord 
at  the  southeastern  barrier.  On  the  previous  day  Louis 
had  been  at  Meaux,  but  left  that  town  in  the  afternoon,  and 
spent  the  night  at  no  great  distance  from  Paris.  To  tell 
the  truth,  he  was  not  too  well  pleased  at  the  information  that 
his  metropolis  was  desirous  of  giving  him  a  heroic  welcome. 
Certainly  his  title  of  bien-aim^  was  anything  but  his  own 
choice.  Nothing  bored  him  so  thoroughly  as  affection 
taken  in  the  abstract.  All  through  his  early  life  he  seemed 
to  be  unfortunate  in  having  about  him  people  to  whom  he 
was  totally  indifferent,  yet  who  persisted  in  blindly  wor- 
shipping him.  In  the  case  of  his  wife,  it  had  not  always 
been  so.  As  a  boy  he  had  been  devoted  to  her.  But  for 
the  Dauphin,  with  his  Jesuitical  manners  and  phrases  for 
all  occasions,  his  father  had  never  pretended  to  care.  The 
daughters  were  more  amusing.  This  afternoon  Louis 
would  have  been  very  well  pleased  to  see  them  when  her 
Majesty's  coach  came  up  with  the  royal  staff,  in  the  midst 
of  which  Louis  sat  on  horseback.  The  Queen,  after  alight- 
ing, stood  looking  at  her  husband  with  wistful  yearning ; 
but  young  France,  dropping  on  one  knee  in  a  dry  spot  in 
the  road,  cried  out,  with  very  good  expression : 

"Sire,  regard  me  as  the  representative  of  that  nation 
which,  with  tears  of  devotion  and  thanksgiving,  greets 
its  Father,  its  Hero,  and  its  King!" 

There  was  a  little  pause.  Then  Louis  remarked,  cas- 
ually, "You  will  catch  cold  without  your  hat,  child," 
after  which  he  turned  to  one  of  his  marshals  with  some 
remark  upon  the  day. 

How  the  Dauphin  arose  from  his  knee  is  not  recorded. 

Like  all  much -prepared -for  cavalcades,  this  one  was 
slow  in  starting.  His  Majesty  objected  to  the  length 
of  the  route  planned.  He  was  anxious  to  be  at  home 
again;  and  he  was  tired  of  people.  Had  somebody  sent 
for  his  turning-lathe?  He  would  do  a  bit  of  work  when 
he  reached  the  Tuileries.  Why  could  not  Richelieu  take 
his  place  as  representative,  and  let  him  get  quietly  through 
the  city  in  a  public  coach?  It  was  nearly  dark  now.  Only 


November   Thirteenth  291 

after  an  endless  series  of  expostulations  was  he  at  last 
persuaded  to  conform  to  the  wishes  of  his  people,  and 
show  himself  in  all  the  real  beauty  of  his  manhood. 

Paris  had  waited  very  patiently  through  the  bleak 
November  afternoon,  shivering  and  laughing  in  anticipa- 
tion of  its  pleasure.  Now  the  windows  of  every  house 
along  the  way  were  gleaming  with  candles  and  dotted  with 
heads.  On  either  side  of  the  street  torches  began  to  be 
lighted  among  the  standing  throngs.  Presently,  as  the 
heavy  twilight  fell  lower,  officers  of  the  police  began,  here 
and  there,  to  illumine  the  long  chains  of  lanterns  that 
were  strung  along  the  walls  of  houses,  and,  at  short  inter- 
vals, across  the  streets;  for  Paris  would  admit  no  night 
yet.  Every  now  and  then,  down  among  the  standing 
throngs,  dashed  the  coach  of  some  nobleman  on  the  way 
to  his  own  view-point.  The  drivers  of  these  vehicles  took 
no  heed  of  the  people  in  their  paths.  They  were  allowed 
to  scramble  away  as  best  they  might,  or  left  to  be  crushed 
beneath  the  horses'  hoofs  if  they  chose.  No  one  murmured, 
for  the  affair  was  quite  usual. 

By  half-past  five  o'clock  a  goodly  company  was  assem- 
bled in  the  salons  of  Mme.  de  Mailly-Nesle ;  ladies  who, 
in  their  eagerness  to  behold  the  return  of  their  King,  were 
very  willing  to  forget  the  fact  that  they  had  ever  failed 
to  recognize  the  Marquise,  for  reasons  connected  with  a 
relative  Duchess.  Upon  their  arrival  at  their  hostess' 
hotel  they  found  awaiting  them  a  new  sensation  in  the 
person  of  Claude,  and  a  two-weeks'  subject  of  gossip  and 
discussion  in  Claude's  foreign  wife. 

Deborah,  arrayed  in  her  brocade,  her  rebellious  hair 
fastened  stiffly  in  place  with  a  thousand  pins,  the  enor- 
mous hoops  of  her  overdress  annoying  her  as  much  as 
possible,  patches  and  powder  upon  her  face  and  hair, 
with  the  customary  rouge  on  her  cheeks,  stood  beside 
Victorine  de  Coigny,  the  only  new-comer  with  whom  she 
did  not  feel  ill  at  ease.  Mesdames  de  Mirepoix,  Rohan, 
and  Chatelet  stared  at  her  unceasingly,  found  her  dress 
in  good  style,  and  her  face,  on  the  whole,  not  bad.  L'Abbe 


292        The  House   of  de  Mailly 

de  Bernis,  who,  to  Henri's  fruitless  rage,  had  accompanied 
Victorine  hither,  looked  upon  Deborah  approvingly.  As 
to  Claude,  he  did  not  approach  his  wife,  but  he  watched  her, 
quietly,  from  wherever  he  chanced  to  be,  involuntarily 
admiring  her  presence,  but  undeniably  dreading  possible 
faux  pas.  Of  these  there  had  been  as  yet  no  signs.  Deb- 
orah certainly  was  frightened,  but  she  did  not  show  it. 
Obeying  her  husband's  last  behest,  she  kept  her  head 
well  up  and  her  eyes  on  a  level  with  those  of  the  person 
to  whom  she  talked.  Mme.  de  Coigny,  lively,  good- 
natured,  bored,  but  never  supercilious,  conversed  with 
the  little  Countess  for  some  moments  upon  her  journey, 
upon  Paris,  and  upon  the  return  of  the  King.  Deborah 
bravely  answered  her  questions,  and,  less  uncertain  of  her 
French  than  she  had  been  a  week  ago,  even  hazarded  a 
few  remarks  of  her  own  with  which  the  little  Mare'chale 
seemed  pleased.  Their  tete-a-tete,  however,  was  checked 
in  its  early  stages  by  the  beginning  of  a  general  conver- 
sation opened  by  one  of  the  dames  d' etiquette,  Mme.  de 
Rohan,  who  cried  to  her  hostess,  from  across  the  room : 

"Truly,  Mme.  de  Nesle,  you  have  here  all  the  world 
but  two  people." 

"  And  who  are  those?"  responded  the  Marquise,  gracious- 
ly, while  the  salon  grew  suddenly  quiet. 

"Those? — why,  the  Due  d'Agenois  and  your  cousin, 
Mme.  de  Chateauroux.  Where,  if  one  may  ask,  are  they?" 

There  was  a  vaguely  indefinite  murmur  of  interest 
from  every  part  of  the  room.  Then  from  la  Mirepoix 
came  another  remark,  one  such  as  only  she  was  capable 
of  making :  "  M.  de  Mailly — oh,  I  mean  the  Count — you 
were  formerly  always  cognizant  of  the  whereabouts  of  the 
dear  Duchess.  Can  you  not  inform  us  of  them  now?" 

The  company  lifted  its  brow  and  a  dozen  glances  were 
cast  at  Deborah — this  new  little  creature  from  the  Ameri- 
cas. "She  does  not  comprehend  the  allusion,"  was  the 
general  thought,  when  they  saw  her  attitude  of  large- 
eyed,  inattentive  innocence.  Only  Claude,  as  he  came 
forward  a  little,  snuff-box  in  hand,  turned  white. 


November   Thirteenth  293 

"  Ah,  Madame  la  Marechale,  you  speak  of  by-gone  days. 
I  know  the  engagements  of  Mine,  de  Chateauroux?  Im- 
possible! Am  I  my  cousin's  keeper?" 

"Perhaps/'  murmured  the  Marquise  de  Chatelet,  sweet- 
ly, "she  is  to  form  part  of  his  Majesty's  escort." 

Silence  followed  this  remark.  Mme.  de  Rohan  glared 
with  displeasure  at  her  companion,  and  the  Marquise 
flushed  a  little  beneath  her  rouge.  It  was  too  much,  for 
once.  Mme.  de  Mailly-Nesle,  with  commendable  haste, 
turned  to  her  near  neighbor  and  reinstated  the  tete-a-tetes. 

"Ah!"  murmured  Mme.  de  Coigny  to  Deborah,  "these 
dames  d' etiquette  are  insufferable.  They  should  be  strick- 
en with  a  plague!" 

Deborah  smiled  very  faintly,  and  could  make  no  reply. 
One  of  her  hands  was  tightly  clenched.  Otherwise  she 
appeared  unconcerned  enough. 

At  this  moment  M.  de  Bernis,  having  decided  the  new 
Countess  to  be  rather  presentable  at  a  distance,  drew 
nearer,  with  intent  to  converse  with  her.  The  abb6  was, 
to-day,  in  his  clerical  dress,  and  thus  Deborah  acknowl- 
edged Mme.  de  Coigny's  introduction  with  great  gravity. 
When  Victorine  presently  turned  aside  to  Coyer,  de  Bernis 
began  his  conversation: 

"Come  to  the  window,  here,  madame,  and  look  at  the 
crowd  upon  the  quay.  In  your  country  I  dare  swear  you 
have  no  such  canaille." 

"  Poor  things !  How  dirty  and  ragged  they  look  in  all 
the  light,"  murmured  Deborah,  in  English. 

"  You  should  one  day  drive  through  the  Faubourg  where 
they  live;  it  would  interest  you,"  returned  the  abb£,  in 
the  same  tongue. 

Deborah  looked  at  him  with  a  quick  smile.  "English 
sounds  very  dear  to  me.  Thank  you  vastly  for  speaking  it." 

"One  would  learn  Sanscrit  to  gain  a  word  of  praise 
from  your  lips,  madame,"  was  the  abba's  unnecessary 
reply,  whispered,  not  spoken. 

The  young  girl  was  embarrassed.  How  could  a  priest 
say  such  things?  Turning  her  head  uneasily,  she  found 


294         The  House  of  de  Mailly 

Mine,  de  Coigny  close  to  her,  and  beheld  a  new  expres- 
sion on  that  childlike,  fretful  face.  It  was  as  well  that, 
at  this  moment,  the  distant  shouting  of  the  throng  pro- 
claimed the  advance  of  the  royal  procession.  Under  cover 
of  the  general  hastening  to  the  lantern -hung  windows, 
Victorine  took  occasion  to  murmur  in  de  Bernis'  ear : 

"Why  are  you  always  cruel,  Francois?  Why  will  you 
continually  torture  me  so?  This  child,  now!  Have  pity 
on  her." 

De  Bernis  shrugged  impatiently.  "You  are  silly, 
Victorine.  It  is  not  my  fault  that  you  are  jealous  every 
time  I  speak  to  a  woman." 

They  were  silent  for  a  moment.  Then  Mme.  de  Coigny, 
as  she  stared  into  the  torchlit  street  below,  sighed.  "  Those 
faces — the  rags — the  dirt — Francois,  do  they  not  remind 
you  of  our  first  days  together  in  the  Court  of  Miracles?" 

For  reply  the  abbe1  silently  kissed  her  hand. 

All  of  Mme.  de  Mailly-Nesle's  guests  were  by  this  time 
arranged  in  the  windows  along  the  front  of  the  hotel. 
Claude,  escaping  from  the  women  who  would  have  ques- 
tioned his  heart  away,  sought  Deborah's  side.  She  re- 
ceived him  with  a  friendly  little  smile  that  relieved  him 
of  many  fears.  A  silence  of  expectation  had  fallen  now 
over  the  room,  for  the  distant  sounds  of  shouting  and  cheer- 
ing were  increasing  in  clearness. 

To  his  intense  relief,  Louis'  long  ride  was  nearly  over; 
and,  almost  at  its  end,  when  there  should  remain  only  a 
bridge  to  be  crossed  to  the  Tuileries,  he  was  hoping  for 
something  that  should  repay  him  for  all  his  sacrifice  of  time 
and  comfort.  Since  the  day  of  the  dismissal  from  Metz 
the  name  of  la  Chateauroux  had  never  crossed  the  King's 
lips.  But  silence  is  not  indicative  of  forgetfulness.  On 
the  contrary,  with  every  passing  day  Louis  felt  his  life 
more  intolerably  lonely,  in  the  absence  of  her  for  whom 
he  really  cared  more  than  any  one  else.  Now,  as  he  drew 
near  to  the  Hotel  de  Mailly,  which  he  knew  well,  expecta- 
tion and  hope  increased  his  speed,  and  he  passed  the  The"a- 
tins  at  a  lively  trot. 


November   Thirteenth  295 

"See,  Deborah,  here  is  the  royal  regiment.  Those, 
there,  at  the  head,  just  coming  under  the  lights,  are  the 
marshals — ay,  that  is  Coigny!" 

"Madame,  your  husband,"  murmured  de  Bernis  in 
Victorine's  ear. 

" — And  there  are  the  Court  pages  in  uniform,  look — on 
Ihe  white  horses — Richelieu,  d'Epernon,  de  Ge"vres,  de 
Mouhy,  Trudaine — Heavens,  how  familiar  they  all  are  ! 
And  here  is  the  Queen's  coach.  Voila  1  She  looked  out 
just  then,  at  the  shouts.  The  Dauphin  is  with  her — they 
would  not  let  the  child  ride.  He's  all  of  fifteen  now — is 
he  not,  de  Bernis?  And  now,  Deborah — there,  alone — in 
front  of  the  corps — with  the  torches  around  him — that 
is  the  King." 

Deborah  Travis  bent  her  head  forward  towards  the  win- 
dow till  the  light  from  the  lantern  that  hung  above  her 
shone  full  in  her  face.  In  the  street,  directly  below,  she 
beheld  a  great  sorrel  charger  caparisoned  in  white  and  sil- 
ver, bearing  a  rider  also  in  white,  with  laced  coat,  cloth 
breeches,  shining  black  riding-boots,  white  hat  a  la  Garde 
Frangaise,  and  across  his  breast  a  wide  blue  ribbon,  fas- 
tened with  three  orders.  The  eyes  of  Claude's  wife  flashed 
over  the  figure  and  to  the  face,  which  was  markedly  distinct 
in  the  light  of  the  torches. 

"Is  that  the  King?"  she  whispered  to  herself,  uncon- 
scious of  speaking. 

At  the  instant  that  Louis  passed  beneath  the  string  of 
lamps  across  the  way,  Deborah's  eyes  fell  upon  his  bright 
blue  ones.  As  though  she  possessed  magnetic  power, 
the  King  responded  to  the  look.  It  was  not  the  face  that 
he  had  hoped  to  find  here,  but  it  was  one — as  fair.  The 
royal  hat  came  off,  the  royal  figure  bent  to  the  saddle- 
bow. And  then  he  was  gone.  Deborah's  cheeks  were  redder 
than  her  rouge.  Every  woman  in  the  room  had  turned  to 
look  at  her,  but  some  eyes,  perhaps,  stopped  at  sight  of 
Claude.  His  face  was  deathly,  and  upon  it  was  plainly 
written  new,  quickening  dread;  while  both  of  his  white 
hands  were  tightly  clenched  over  his  polished  nails, 


CHAPTER   IV 

Claude's  Own 

HE  Nouvelles  a  la  Main  of  the  isth  of  No- 
vember announced,  among  many  things, 
that  the  Count  and  Countess  de  Mailly  had 
entered  their  apartment  in  the  Rue  d'Anjou 
at  Versailles.  Deborah,  who  for  some  time 
had  been  secretly  caressing  the  thought. of  "home,"  went 
into  the  little  suite  of  rooms  with  a  glorified,  colonial  sense 
of  mistress-ship.  Madam  Trevor's  method  of  housekeep- 
ing was  familiar  to  her  in  every  detail,  from  candle-dipping 
to  the  frying  of  chickens;  and,  while  she  felt  rather  help- 
less, having  no  slaves  at  her  command,  she  determined 
to  do  what  she  could  with  the  two  liveried  lackeys,  and  to 
demand  others  of  Claude  if  she  found  it  necessary.  She 
and  Claude  had  never  discussed  housekeeping  together, 
for  the  reason  that  Claude  had  no  conception  of  the  mean- 
ing of  the  word. 

They  arrived  and  were  served  with  dinner  in  their  little 
abode  on  Monday.  Tuesday  afternoon  found  Deborah 
seated  helplessly  in  the  boudoir,  with  her  husband,  rather 
pale  and  nervous,  before  her.  He  had  found  her,  utterly 
oblivious  of  the  consternation  of  the  chef,  the  lackeys, 
and  the  scullion,  washing  Chinese  porcelain  teacups  in 
the  kitchen.  And  it  was  then  that  Deborah  received  her 
first  lesson  in  French  great-ladyhood,  by  whose  iron  laws 
all  her  housewifely  instincts  were  to  be  bound  about  and 
imprisoned.  She  must  never  give  an  order  relative  to  the 
management  of  their  menage.  She  must  never  purchase 
or  arrange  a  single  article  of  food  that  was  to  be  prepared 
for  their  table.  She  must  never  dream  of  performing 


Claude's    Own  297 

the  smallest  act  of  manual  labor.  She  might  designate 
the  hour  for  meals,  or  inform  the  first  lackey  how  many 
were  to  be  served,  or  what  beverage  should  be  passed  at 
her  toilette.  She  might  keep  her  appointments  with  cos- 
turners,  milliners,  hair-dressers,  furriers,  jewellers,  toy- 
men; and  she  might  see  that  her  engagement-book  was 
filled.  That  was  all  that  was  expected  of  her  in  the  way 
of  labor.  She  had  made  a  great  false  step  to-day,  and  it 
must  not  occur  again. 

And  Deborah  listened  to  Claude's  explanation  in  silence, 
with  her  pretty  new  world  all  tumbling  about  her  ears. 

"  We  might,  then,  as  well  have  stayed  at  your  cousin's 
house.  This  is  only  our  tavern,  kept  for  our  convenience/' 
she  said,  at  last. 

Claude  nodded,  and  paid  no  attention  to  the  sarcasm. 
"This  is  where  we  sleep,  where  we  change  our  clothes, 
where  we  receive  our  friends." 

"We've  no  home?" 

"On  the  contrary,  we  make  all  Paris,  all  Versailles, 
our  home." 

Deborah  folded  her  hands,  and  her  face  grew  suddenly 
helpless  in  expression.  "  I  don't  like  it,"  she  said,  faintly. 

"Dear,  you  do  not  know  it.  Wait.  You  will  soon  be 
too  much  occupied  to  think  of  it.  Why  is  your  coffer  still 
here?  Has  not  Julie  unpacked  it?  You  must  not  permit 
laziness." 

"  She  has  done  all  that  I  would  allow.  I  will  finish  it 
myself.  Claude,  may  I  have  something?" 

"  What  ?    You  shall  have  it. " 

"You  know  in  our  salon  there  is,  near  the  mantel,  a 
little  cabinet  against  the  wall — a  little  cabinet  with  two 
shelves,  and  a  door  and  key." 

"Yes,  yes.  'Tis  for  liqueurs,  if  we  want  to  keep  them. 
Well?" 

"  I  want  that — I  want  the  cabinet  to  use  for  myself." 

"Just  Heaven!  Have  you  then  so  many  valuables, 
or  so  many  secrets?"  He  laughed,  but  there  was  curiosity 
also  in  his  tone. 


298         The  House   of  de  Mailly 

"You  know  that  I  have  neither,  Claude.  But  I  want 
the  cabinet." 

Claude  shrugged,  never  dreaming  what  she  intended  the 
place  for.  It  was  but  a  little  thing  to  ask;  and  besides, 
curiously  enough,  Claude,  who  had  been  brought  up 
among  the  most  unreliable  class  of  women  in  the  world, 
had  yet  been  so  little  affected  by  their  ways  that,  ten  weeks 
after  their  marriage,  he  was  beginning  to  trust  his  wife. 
She  was  as  honest  as  a  man  when  she  did  not  like  a  thing, 
or  when  she  wanted  one;  she  was  not  talkative;  she  did 
not  make  scenes ;  he  had  beheld  her  angry,  but  it  was  not 
with  a  malicious  anger ;  and,  more  than  all,  she  never  com- 
plained. So  far  Claude  had  found  nothing  to  regret  in 
his  marriage.  He  realized  it  now  as  he  stood  there  in  her 
dressing-room,  while  she  sat  looking  at  him  expectantly. 

"Eh,  well — the  cabinet  and  its  key  are  yours.  You'll 
not  forget  what  I  have  been  telling  you  this  afternoon?" 

"No." 

He  smiled  again,  went  to  her  side  and  kissed  her.  "  Good- 
bye, then.  I  am  going  out.  You  will  not  be  lonely?  Mme. 
de  Coigny  may  come.  After  your  presentation  to  the 
Queen,  you  know,  there  will  be  no  idle  moments." 

He  left  her  with  a  little  nod  and  smile,  and,  donning  hat 
and  cloak,  departed  towards  the  Avenue  de  Sceaux,  from 
which  he  turned  into  the  Rue  des  Chaniers,  bound  for  a 
little  building  at  the  end  of  it,  not  far  from  the  deer-park, 
which  was  much  in  favor  as  an  afternoon  assembling  place 
for  gentlemen  of  the  Court  during  the  unoccupied  hours  of 
the  afternoon.  Here  one  might  gamble  as  he  chose,  high 
or  low;  drink  coffee,  rum,  or  vin  d'Ai;  fight  his  duel,  if 
need  be ;  or  peruse  an  account  of  the  last  one  in  a  paper,  if 
he  did  not  want  to  talk.  It  was  a  comfortable  and  ugly 
little  place,  kept  by  M.  Berkley,  of  fame  somewhat  unde- 
sirable in  London,  but  of  gracious  personality  here. 

To-day,  for  the  first  time  in  months,  the  little  place  was 
creditably  filled  with  its  customary  patrons,  noblemen  and 
lords  to  whom  camp-life  had  lately  become  more  familiar 
than  the  Court.  Here  were  assembled  all  those  gentlemen 


Claude's   Own  299 

who,  two  days  ago,  had  ridden  into  Paris  with  Louis ;  and 
a  good  many  more  who  mysteriously  reappeared  out 
of  the  deeps  of  lower  Paris,  where  they  had  been  hidden 
from  salon  gossip  and  too  many  women.  That  morning 
Richelieu,  d'Epernon,  and  de  G£vres  left  the  Tuileries 
in  despair.  The  King,  clad  in  a  stout  leathern  suit,  was 
shut  into  an  empty  room  with  his  friend  the  carpenter,  mak- 
ing snuff-boxes  with  all  his  might,  and  admitting  neither 
silk,  velvet,  his  wife,  nor  the  Dauphin  into  his  presence. 
His  gentlemen  were  now  less  harmlessly  occupied.  De 
Gevres  was  opposing  d'Epernon  on  the  red.  Richelieu, 
in  a  mood,  played  solitaire  a  la  Charles  VI.  against  him- 
self, the  sums  that  he  lost  being  vowed  to  go  to  Mile. 
Nicolet  of  the  Opera  ballet.  De  Mouhy,  d'Argenson,  de 
Coigny,  de  Rohan,  Maurepas,  Jarnac,  and  half  a  dozen 
others  were  grouped  about  the  room,  drinking,  betting, 
and  gossiping.  The  conversation  turned,  as  it  was  some 
time  bound  to  do,  on  la  Chateauroux  and  d'Agenois. 

"  The  King  has  not  yet,  I  believe,  discovered  the  renewed 
relationship,"  drawled  d'Epernon,  mildly. 

"Perhaps  not.  But  in  a  week — imagine  it!  Madame 
la  Duchesse  is  fortunate  in  having  gentlemen  scattered 
over  most  of  the  civilized  world  on  whom  she  may  cast 
herself  for  protection  in  case  of  need!"  returned  Richelieu, 
crossing  glances  with  Maurepas. 

There  was  a  little  round  of  significant  looks  and  nods. 
Evidently  the  Duke's  sang-froid  had  not  deserted  him. 
Every  one  knew  very  well  that  the  deposed  favorite  and 
her  former  preceptor  were  soon  bound  to  be  at  oppo- 
site ends  of  the  scales,  and  that  her  rise  now  meant  his 
fall. 

"  I  wonder — "  began  Coigny,  thoughtfully,  when  again, 
for  the  twentieth  time,  the  door  opened,  and  some  one  en- 
tered whose  appearance  paralyzed  the  conversation. 

"  Well,  gentlemen,  I  am  thankful  only  that  I  am  not  a 
debutante  at  the  Op&ra.  Such  a  reception  would  ruin  me. 
Am  I  forgotten?" 

"  Forgotten  I"     It  was  a  chorus.     Then  one  voice  con- 


300        The  House  of  de  Mailly 

tinned :  "  When  one  sees  a  ghost,  Claude,  one  fears  to  ad- 
dress it  hastily.  It  might  take  offence." 

" '  I  think  it  is  a  weakness  of  mine  eyes  that  shapes — ' " 

"'This  monstrous  apparition'?  Thanks,  truly  I"  ob- 
served de  Mailly. 

Richelieu  then  strode  forward  and  seized  his  hand. 
"  He's  in  the  flesh,  messieurs.  I  am  delighted,  I  am  charmed, 
I  am  somewhat  overcome,  dear  Claude.  I  should  have 
pictured  you  at  this  moment  flirting  in  Spain,  storming  a 
seraglio  at  Constantinople,  toasting  some  estimable  frau- 
lein  in  beer,  drowning  yourself  in  tea  and  accent  in  Lon- 
don, or — fighting  savages  in  the  West.  Anything  but 
this!  Your  exile  is  over,  then?" 

Claude  smiled,  but,  before  he  spoke,  Maurepas  had  come 
forward : 

"My  faith,  gentlemen,  you  seem  to  be  but  slightly  in- 
formed of  the  last  news.  Monsieur  has  been  in  Paris  for 
a  week  with  Madame  the  Countess  his  wife,  and — " 

"His  wife!     Diablel" 

"  Come,  come,  then,  I  was  not  far  wrong.  Is  she  Span- 
ish, Turkish,  German,  English,  or — by  some  impossible 
chance — French  ?  Speak !" 

"I  have  not  before  had  the  chance,  my  lord,"  returned 
Claude,  bowing.  "  However,  my  tale  is  not  so  wonderful. 
When  I  went  upon  my  little  journey  the  King  was  so  gra- 
cious as  to  express  the  hope  that  I  would  return  to  Ver- 
sailles when  I  should  be  able  to  present  to  him  madame 
my  wife.  Well — in  the  English  Americas  I  was  so  happy 
as — to  have  engaged  the  affections  of  a  charming  daugh- 
ter of  their  excellent  aristocracy  there.  We  were  married 
nearly  three  months  ago  in  a  private  chapel  by  the  Father 
Aime'  St.  Quentin;  and  so,  madame  being  pleased  to  re- 
turn with  me  to  Court,  we  set  sail  shortly  after  the  wedding, 
and — behold  me!" 

"  Bravo — bravo !  You  have  been  making  history  I  Ma- 
dame, of  course,  is  not  yet  presented?" 

"Scarcely,  Chevalier,  since  her  Majesty  is  barely  re- 
turned." 


Claude's    Own  301 

"Are  you  stopping  in  Paris?" 

"  We  have  Rohan's  former  apartment  in  the  Rue  d'Anjou 
here." 

"Aha!  Madame  possibly  brought  a  worthy  dot — is  it 
not  so?" 

If  the  question  displeased  Claude,  he  did  not  show  it. 
Shrugging  and  smiling  with  some  significance,  he  moved 
towards  a  card-table,  and  instantly  the  estimate  of  Mme.  de 
Mailly's  prestige  went  up  a  hundred  thousand  livres.  The 
room  was  now  all  attention  to  Claude.  He  ordered  cognac, 
and  his  example  was  followed  by  a  dozen  others.  De 
Gevres  and  d'Epernon  ceased  their  play.  Even  Richelieu 
seemed  for  a  moment  to  be  on  the  point  of  leaving  the 
interests  of  Mile.  Nicolet,  but  eventually  he  continued 
his  amusement,  only  stopping  occasionally  to  glance 
around  at  the  group  of  new  sycophants,  biding  his  own 
time. 

"Of  course,  you  have  seen  la  Chateauroux,  Claude?" 
questioned  Rohan,  a  little  intimately. 

De  Mailly  stared  at  him.  "  Of  course,  as  you  say,  I  have 
seen  her." 

"  D'Agenois'  reign  will  be  short,  then/'  muttered  Coigny 
to  Maurepas. 

Claude  heard,  flushed,  and  turned  again  to  Rohan: 
"Chevalier,  will  you  dice?" 

"With  pleasure." 

Cups  were  produced,  and  the  rest  began  betting  among 
themselves  on  the  outcome  of  the  first  throws.  Odds  were 
not  in  Rohan's  favor. 

"A  thousand  louis,  Chevalier,  that  my  number  is  less 
than  yours." 

This  was  an  unusual  stake.  Rohan's  eyebrows  twitched 
up  once,  but  he  took  the  wager  calmly.  Deborah's  re- 
puted fortune  went  up  another  hundred  thousand  francs, 
and  advanced  still  further  when  Claude  won  his  throw; 
for  they  only  win  who  do  not  need  to  do  so.  De  Rohan 
made  an  effort  to  retrieve  himself,  but  failed.  Then  the 
stakes  diminished,  for  Claude  had  had  his  revenge  for 


302         The  House  of  de  Mailly 

an  impertinent  question,  and  did  not  desire  to  gain  a  new 
reputation  for  wealth.  However,  he  was  three  thousand 
louis  to  the  good  when  Richelieu  came  over  and  touched 
him  on  the  shoulder. 

"  Enough,  Claude,  enough  for  the  time.  Come  with  me. 
I  need  you  now.  M.  Berkley  will  be  always  here  to  wel- 
come you.  I — well,  I  shall  not  be  here  every  day.  Come." 

Claude  rose,  good-naturedly.  "Certainly  I  will  come, 
du  Plessis.  Au  revoir,  gentlemen." 

"  Au  revoir  I  Au  revoir !  When  do  you  present  us  to 
madame?" 

"We  shall  be  delighted  to  see  you  as  soon  as  Mme.  de 
Mirepoix  has  bestowed  a  card  upon  us." 

A  few  further  good-byes,  and  de  Mailly  and  his  old-time 
friend  left  the  house  together  and  moved  slowly  down  the 
street,  the  Duke  leading.  Claude  did  not  speak,  for  it  was 
for  his  companion  to  open  conversation.  This  Richelieu 
seemed  in  no  haste  to  do.  They  had  proceeded  for  some 
distance  before  he  remarked,  suddenly : 

"It  is  cold." 

"Most  true.     What  hangs  upon  the  weather?" 

"  This.  It  is  too  chilly  to  wander  about  outside.  Take 
me  to  your  apartment  and  present  me  to  the  Countess." 

"With  pleasure,  if  you  wish  it." 

"Many  thanks."  They  turned  into  a  cross  street  that 
led  towards  the  little  Rue  Anjou,  when  Richelieu,  after  a 
deep  breath,  began  quickly,  in  a  new  strain:  "Claude — 
do  you  know — that  my  fall  is  imminent?" 

"What!" 

"  Oh,  it  is  true.  My  fall  is  imminent.  I  am  frank  with 
you  when  I  say  that  never  before  has  my  position  been  so 
beset  with  difficulties.  You  would  learn  soon,  at  any  rate, 
and  1  prefer  that  you  hear  now,  from  me,  what  every  mem- 
ber of  the  Court  save  Mme.  de  Chateauroux  herself  knows 
— that  it  was  I  who,  beside  myself  with  anxiety  for  the 
King,  was  the  instrument  of  her  dismissal  from  Metz." 

Claude  opened  his  mouth  quickly  as  if  to  speak.  Think- 
ing better  of  it,  however,  he  remained  silent  and  waited. 


Claude's   Own  303 

"  As  1  have  said,  madame,  now  out  of  touch  with  Court 
circles,  has  not  yet  heard  of  what  she  would  term  my 
treachery.  But  during  the  first  conversation  she  holds 
with  a  courtier  she  must  learn  the  truth.  Of  course,  you 
perceive  that,  if  she  comes  again  into  favor — 1 — am  dis- 
missed. Of  course,  also,  her  every  nerve  is  strained  tow- 
ards the  natural  object  of  reattaining  to  her  former  posi- 
tion. My  dear  Claude,  1  am  speaking  to  you  in  my  own 
interests,  but  they  are  yours  as  well.  Your  cousin  is  just 
now  playing  with  d'Agenois  in  order  to  rouse  the  possible 
jealousy  of  the  King.  It  is  her  method.  It  may,  for  the 
third  time,  prove  successful.  But  if  the  success  does 
come,  it  will  be  over  my  fallen  body.  1  shall  oppose  her 
as  I  have  opposed  nothing  before,  because  never  before 
have  I  been  so  deeply  concerned.  I  would  ask  you,  Claude, 
which  side  you  will  espouse — hers  or  mine?" 

Claude  was  silent  for  a  few  steps.  Then  he  said,  mus- 
ingly: "A  battle  between  my  cousin  and  my  friend. 
You  ask  me  a  difficult  question.  Perhaps  you  are  think- 
ing that,  if  a  d'Agenois  alone  fails  with  his  Majesty,  a 
d'Agenois  and  a  de  Mailly  might  do  her  work.  Is  that 
your  notion?  Hein?" 

"Your  astuteness  is  as  perfect  as  of  old.  That  is  my 
notion.  And  I  would  beg  of  you  that  you  do  not  allow 
yourself  to  be  played  with  again." 

"  As  a  de  Mailly — I  might  be  willing.  As  the  husband 
of  my  charming  wife — I  do  not  need  your  pleading  to 
decide  me." 

Richelieu  laughed,  and  there  was  relief  in  the  tone. 
He  had  secured  himself  from  one  danger,  and,  out  of  grat- 
itude, he  should  befriend  this  unknown  wife  if  she  were 
in  the  smallest  degree  possible.  "  And  now  for  Mme.  de 
Mailly!"  he  cried,  gayly,  with  lips  and  heart,  as  they  ap- 
proached the  house  in  the  Rue  d'Anjou. 

"She  will  be  delighted.  I  fancy  her  afternoon  so  far 
has  been  lonely." 

In  this  Claude  was  wrong.  Deborah's  afternoon  had 
been  far  from  dull.  Quite  without  her  husband's  assist- 


304        The  House    of  de  Mailly 

ance  she  was  learning  something  more  of  this  Court  life, 
this  atmosphere  in  which  he  had  lived  through  his  youth. 
When  he  left  her,  early  in  the  afternoon,  after  the  gen- 
tle lecture  on  manners,  Deborah's  first  move  had  been 
to  take  from  her  trunk  those  articles  which  Julie  had  been 
forbidden  to  touch,  to  carry  them  into  the  empty  salon, 
and  place  them  in  the  little  black  cabinet  by  the  mantel, 
where  she  stood  regarding  them  for  some  moments  ab- 
sently. They  were  ten  crystal  phials,  of  different  sizes, 
filled  with  liquids  varying  in  tone  from  brown  to  limpid 
crystal.  Upon  each  was  pasted  a  paper  label,  covered 
with  fine  writing,  which  told,  in  quaint  phraseology  and 
spelling,  the  contents  of  the  bottle,  and  the  method  of 
obtaining  it.  Beside  the  flasks  was  a  small  wooden  box 
with  closed  lid,  containing  a  number  of  round,  dry,  brown- 
ish objects,  odorless,  and  tasteless,  too,  if  one  had  dared 
bite  into  them.  They  were  specimens  of  amanita  mus- 
caria  and  amanita  phalloides  which  Deborah,  still  cater- 
ing to  her  strange  delight,  had  brought  to  her  new  home, 
together  with  the  best  of  her  various  experiments  in  me- 
dicinal alkaloids.  To  her  profound  regret,  she  had  been 
unable  to  pack  Dr.  Carroll's  glass  retort.  But  here,  some 
time  when  Claude  was  in  humor,  she  would  ask  him  to 
get  her  another ;  for  surely,  in  this  great  city  of  Paris,  such 
things  might  be  obtained.  Then,  even  here,  in  her  own 
tiny  dressing-room,  she  would  arrange  a  little  corner  for 
her  work,  and  so  make  a  bit  of  home  for  herself  at  last. 
Poor  Deborah  was  young,  heedless,  enthusiastic,  and  in 
love  with  her  talent,  as,  indeed,  mortals  should  be.  She 
did  not  consider,  and  there  was  no  one  to  tell  her,  since 
she  did  not  confide  in  Claude,  that  no  more  dangerous 
power  than  hers  could  possibly  have  been  brought  into 
this  most  corrupt,  criminal,  and  intriguing  Court  in  the 
world.  Reckless  Deborah!  After  a  last,  long  look  at 
her  little  flasks,  she  closed  the  cabinet  door  upon  them, 
locked  it,  and  carried  the  key  into  her  dressing-room, 
where  she  laid  it  carefully  in  one  of  the  drawers  of  her 
chiffonier.  From  this  little  place  she  did  not  hear  the 


Claude's   Own  305 

rapping  at  the  antechamber  door,  nor  see  her  lackey  go 
through  the  salon.  It  was  only  when,  with  a  slight  cough, 
he  announced  from  the  doorway  behind  her,  "  The  Mare"- 
chale  de  Coigny,"  that  Mme.  de  Mailly  turned  about. 

"Oh!"  she  said,  in  slightly  startled  fashion.  It  was 
very  difficult  for  her  as  yet  to  regard  white  servants  as  her 
inferiors.  As  she  entered  the  little  salon  with  cordial  haste, 
Victorine,  cloaked  and  muffed,  rose  from  her  chair. 

"  You  are  very  kind  to  come.  Cl — M.  de  Mailly  is  out. 
I  was  quite  alone." 

"That  is  charming.  We  shall  get  to  know  each  other 
better  now — is  it  not  so?  May  I  take  off  my  pelisse? 
Thank  you.  M.  de  Coigny  and  I  have  just  come  out — to 
Versailles,  you  know — for  the  winter.  Later,  we  may  be 
commanded  to  the  palace.  If  so,  I  shall  have  to  be  under 
that  atrocious  Boufflers;  and,  in  that  case,  life  will  be 
frightful." 

While  Victorine  spoke  she  had,  with  some  assistance 
from  Deborah,  removed  all  her  things  and  thrown  them 
carelessly  upon  a  neighboring  chair,  after  which  she  seated 
herself  opposite  her  hostess,  smiling  in  her  friendliest  man- 
ner. 

"1  should  like  to  be  able  to  offer  you  something,  ma- 
dame,"  said  Deborah,  hesitatingly,  unable  to  banish  the 
instinct  of  open  hospitality.  "What — would  you  like?" 

Victorine  smiled  again,  with  a  quick  pleasure  at  the 
unaffected  offer.  "Thank  you  very  much.  A  dish  of 
the  &  I' anglais  would  be  delightful." 

Deborah's  heart  sank.  In  Maryland  tea  was  a  luxury 
drunk  only  upon  particular  occasions.  She  had  not  the 
slightest  idea  that  there  was  such  an  article  in  her  kitchen 
here.  Bravely  saying  nothing,  however,  she  struck  a  little 
gong,  and,  at  the  appearance  of  Laroux,  ordered,  rather 
faintly,  two  dishes  of  Bohea.  Laroux,  receiving  the  com- 
mand with  perfect  stoicism,  bowed  and  disappeared,  to 
return,  in  a  very  short  space  of  time,  with  two  pretty 
bowls  filled  with  sweet,  brown  liquid.  These  he  deftly  ar- 
ranged on  a  low  stand  between  the  ladies,  placing  beside 
20 


306         The  House   of  de  Mailly 

them  a  little  plate  of  rissoles.  Madame  la  Comtesse  de- 
cided at  once  that  such  a  servant  as  this  should  not  soon 
leave  her. 

"  Ah — this  is  most  comfortable.  1  am  going  to  remain 
with  you  during  the  whole  afternoon.  It  is  wonderful 
to  find  some  one  who  is  neither  a  saint,  an  etiquette,  nor  a 
rival.  My  faith,  madame,  one  might  say  anything  to 
you!" 

Deborah  smiled,  sipped  her  tea,  and  could  find  nothing 
to  reply.  Her  face,  however,  invited  confidence;  and  the 
Mar^chale  sighed  and  continued : 

"  You  seem  to  be  almost  happy  1  The  look  on  your  face 
one  sees  only  once  a  lifetime.  It  is  youth,  and — inno- 
cence, I  think.  How  old  are  you?  Oh,  pardon!  I  am 
absurdly  thoughtless!  But  you  look  so  young  1" 

"I  am  eighteen/'  responded  Deborah  at  once. 

"And  I — nineteen.  Beside  you  I  appear  thirty.  It 
is  because  I  have  lived  here  for  three  years.  Ah!  How 
I  have  been  bored!" 

"It  must  have  been  very  lonely  all  the  summer.  But 
now,  with  Monsieur  the  Mare'chal  returned,  it  will  be  better/' 

"Oh,  you  are  right!  It  will  be  more  difficult  now,  and 
so,  more  absorbing.  But  Jules  lets  me  do  almost  as  I 
please.  If  he  were  but  more  strict,  less  cold,  Francois 
would  have  more  interest.  He  is  growing  indifferent. 
Dieu!  How  I  have  worked  to  prevent  that!  But — it  is 
imbecile  of  me!  I  care  so  much  for  him  that  I  cannot  be- 
have as  I  should!" 

"I  do  not  understand/'  said  Deborah,  indistinctly, 
with  a  new  feeling,  one  of  dread,  stealing  over  her.  In- 
stinctively she  feared  to  hear  what  this  pale,  big-eyed 
little  creature  was  going  to  say  next. 

For  an  instant  Victorine  stared  at  her.  Then,  leaning 
slowly  forward  and  looking  straight  into  Deborah's  honest 
eyes,  she  asked,  in  a  low  tone,  "  You  did  not  know — that 
de  Bernis— that— I— " 

Deborah  sprang  up,  the  empty  tea-bowl  rolling  unheeded 
at  her  feet.  She  had  grown  suddenly  very  white,  and, 


Claude's   Own  307 

as  she  returned  Victorine's  own  look,  searchingly,  she 
found  in  the  other  face  what  made  the  horror  in  her  own 
deepen,  as  she  backed  unconsciously  towards  the  wall. 

"  You  don't  know ! — Mon  Dieu ! — Why,  Claude — was 
mad,  mad,  to  have  brought  you  here! — Why,  madame 
— Deborah — we're  all  alike!  You  mustn't  look  at  me 
like  that.  I  am  not  different  from  the  others.  Henri 
de  Mailly — the  Marquise — the  Mirepoix — Mme.  de  Rohan 
— Mme.  de  Chateauroux — child,  it  is  a  custom.  The  King 
— Claude  himself — before — " 

"  Ah !"  Deborah  made  a  sound  in  her  throat,  not  a  scream, 
not  an  articulate  word,  but  a  kind  of  guttural,  choking 
groan.  Then  she  covered  her  face  with  her  hands.  For 
a  moment  that  seemed  an  eternity  she  stood  there  repeating 
to  herself  those  last  cruel,  insensate  words,  " '  Claude  him- 
self— before — ' 

And  then  Victorine,  looking  at  her,  came  to  a  realiz- 
ing sense  of  what  she  had  done.  Moved  by  a  half-im- 
pulse, she  started  up  unsteadily,  swayed  for  an  instant, 
and  then  fell  back  upon  her  chair,  covering  her  head  with 
her  hands  and  arms,  and  bursting  into  a  passion  of  sobs 
so  heart-broken,  so  deep,  so  childlike  forlorn,  that  they 
roused  Deborah  from  herself.  Letting  her  hands  fall, 
she  looked  over  towards  her  visitor.  There  was  a  note  in 
the  Marechale's  voice,  and  a  line  of  utter  abandon  in  her 
position,  that  brought  a  pang  of  woman's  sympathy  into 
the  heart  of  the  woman-child  who  regarded  her.  Putting 
away  from  her  all  selfishness,  even  that  miserable  thought 
of  Claude,  forgetting  the  brutal  openness  with  which 
Victorine  had  spoken,  she  suddenly  ran  across  the  room 
and  took  Victorine  into  both  her  strong,  young  arms. 
Victorine's  head  found  a  resting-place  on  her  shoulder; 
Victorine's  aching,  hopeless,  impure  heart  beat  for  an 
instant  in  unison  with  that  other  one ;  Victorine's  racking 
sobs  ceased  gradually.  She  gave  a  long,  shivering  sigh. 
There  was  a  quickening  silence  through  the  room.  Then 
the  frail  little  figure  loosed  its  grasp  on  Deborah,  straight- 
ened quickly  up,  and  turned  to  move  to  the  chair  where 


308         The   House  of  de  Mailly 

her  wraps  lay.  Dully,  Deborah  watched  the  Marechale 
tie  on  her  hood  and  pull  the  cloak  about  her  shoulders. 
Then,  picking  up  gloves  and  muff,  the  visitor  turned  again 
and  moved  back  to  where  Deborah  stood.  In  front  of 
her  she  stopped,  and  her  eyes,  in  which  shone  two  great 
tears,  rested  in  dim  pity  and  sorrow  upon  Deborah's  white 
face.  The  look  lasted  for  a  long  moment.  Then,  slowly, 
without  a  word,  the  Mar6chale  picked  her  handkerchief 
from  the  floor  where  it  lay  and  began  moving  towards  the 
door.  Before  she  had  reached  it  Claude's  wife  spoke 
again,  more  steadily : 

"Mme.  de  Coigny — you  must  not  go — yet." 

The  Mar6chale  paused,  with  her  back  to  Deborah,  and 
stood  hesitating. 

"You  must  not  go  yet,"  repeated  the  voice.  "You 
must  tell  me,  first — about  Claude." 

A  little  moan  came  from  Victorine's  lips.  "Claude 
— Claude — I  c-cannot  tell  you  about  him.  I  know  nothing ! 
I — I  lied  to  you.  He  is  not  like  the  rest." 

"No,  madame;  that  is  not  so.  You  try  to  be — kind. 
Was  it — tell  me — Mme.  de  Chateauroux?  Yes.  Now  I 
know.  That  is  true." 

Victorine  faced  quickly  around,  the  tears  coming  again 
into  her  eyes.  Mme.  de  Mailly  had  begun  to  walk  up  and 
down  the  room,  speaking  in  a  monotone,  twisting  and 
untwisting  her  fingers  as  she  went. 

"I  see.  I  know.  Claude  was  exiled  because  the  King 
— did  not  like  him."  Here  she  turned  about  and  looked 
her  companion  squarely  in  the  face.  "Claude  married 
me  so  that  he  might  return  to  Court.  In  his  letter  the 
King  said  that  he  might  return  when  he  could  present  his 
wife  at  Versailles.  Yes.  Claude  read  that  letter  to  me, 
and  still — I  married  him.  Oh,  madame — "  a  nervous 
laugh  broke  from  her — "  did  M.  de  Coigny  do  that  to  you?" 

Victorine  stared  at  her  in  horror  of  her  tone.  "  Deborah 
— Deborah — don't  look  so!  Claude  isn't  like  that.  And 
you — you  are  good.  You  are  pure.  Ah — I  cannot  for- 
give myself  while  I  live  for  what  I  have  done !  Is  there 


Claude's   Own  309 

anything  that  I  can  do?  Tell  me,  is  there  nothing — noth- 
ing that  I  can  do?" 

"  Oh,  madame,  may  we  not  help  also?  Is  it  a  new  cos- 
tume, or — 

It  was  Claude  who  spoke.  He  and  Richelieu  had  en- 
tered the  antechamber  just  in  time  to  hear  the  last  phrase. 
Mme.  de  Coigny  faced  about  sharply.  She  knew  that 
Deborah  must  have  time  to  recover  herself. 

"  It  was  not  a  garment — but  a  secret,  messieurs.  Mon- 
sieur le  Due,  I  am  offended  that  I  meet  you  for  the  first 
time  since  your  return  in  the  apartment  of  a  friend. 
Have  you  struck  me  from  your  list?" 

"Ah,  madame,  one  does  well  to  keep  from  your  side, 
since  one  does  not  fight  an  abbe".  M.  de  Bernis  has  more 
enemies  from  jealousy  than  any  man  about  the  Court/' 
returned  Richelieu,  a  trifle  maliciously. 

Claude,  much  displeased  with  the  Duke's  ill-timed  pleas- 
antry, glanced  anxiously  at  his  wife.  Her  manner  was 
composed,  but  her  expression  he  did  not  know. 

"  Madame,  allow  me  to  present  to  you  M.  de  Richelieu, 
of  whom  I  have  so  often  spoken.  Monsieur,  Mme.  de 
Mailly." 

Deborah  courtesied,  and  Richelieu  bowed  profoundly. 
For  some  unaccountable  reason,  the  Duke's  ready  gal- 
lantry suddenly  deserted  him,  and  he  could  conjure  up  no 
fit  compliment  for  this  girl  with  the  unrouged  cheeks 
and  the  calm,  frigid  self-possession.  Deborah's  mood  was 
new  to  Claude,  and  he  regarded  her  with  amazement, 
as  she  stood  perfectly  silent  after  the  introduction,  her 
glance  moving  slowly  from  Richelieu's  immaculate  shoes 
to  his  large  brown  eyes  and  the  becoming  curls  of  his 
wig.  Once  more  it  remained  for  Victorine  to  save  the 
situation.  She  was  wondering  anxiously  if  her  eyes 
were  very  red,  as  she  asked: 

"  Gentlemen,  you  have  been  to — Berkley's — that  name ! 
— have  you  not?" 

"Yes,  madame,  and  we  left  your  husband  there.  He 
lost  to  Claude  here,  I  think.  Mordi,  Claude!  The  gods 


310        The   House   of  de  Mailly 

are  too  good  to  you.  If  you  would  not  have  Mme.  de 
Mailly  carried  off  by  some  stricken  gentleman,  you  should 
keep  her  locked  in  a  jewel-case.  Are  you  to  be  presented 
soon,  madame,  and  by  whom?" 

Deborah  blankly  shook  her  head.  "I  do  not  know, 
monsieur/' 

Claude  looked  at  her,  more  puzzled  than  ever,  and 
Richelieu  commented  mentally:  "Beauty  and  presence, 
without  brains.  It  is  as  well." 

"Mme.  de  Mailly-Nesle  may  present  her,  is  it  not  so?" 
asked  Victorine,  again  ending  the  pause. 

"Certainly — I  believe  so.  She  has  been  a  lady  of  the 
palace." 

"I  should  advise  Mme.  de  Conti,  Claude.  Her  price 
is  about  two  thousand  francs,  but  she  does  it  with  an  un- 
equalled manner.  She  will  direct  the  courtesies,  the  train, 
the  kiss,  the  retreat,  everything  —  perfectly.  Besides 
that,  you  have  her  patronage  forever  after,  particularly 
if  you  supplement  the  two  thousand  with  a  small  jewel,  or 
some  such  gift.  Her  rents  are  mortgaged,  and  she  lives 
now  on  her  presentations." 

"When  does  the  King  leave  Paris?"  asked  Claude,  con- 
templatively. 

Richelieu  shrugged.  "On  Wednesday,  we  trust.  He 
is  now  making  snuff-boxes  by  the  score,  and  if  a  fit  of 
cooking  succeeds  that — Heaven  knows !  He  may  remain 
at  the  Tuileries  till  Christmas." 

Deborah  stared  at  this  information,  and  Victorine  turned 
to  her,  laughing  nervously :  "  Has  not  monsieur  told  you 
what  an  excellent  cook  his  Majesty  is?  He  rivals  Marin; 
and  it  is  said  that,  could  he  win  a  cordon  bleu,  he  would 
wear  no  other  order.  His  bonbons  are  delicious.  1  once 
ate  some  of  those  that  he  sent  to — "  she  stopped  suddenly. 

"Mme.  de  Chateauroux,"  finished  the  Duke,  fearing 
that  her  hesitation  was  for  him. 

Victorine  nodded  hastily.  "Well,  dear  madame/'  she 
continued,  turning  to  Deborah,  "1  must  go,  1  have  been 
with  you  an  eternity.  It  grows  late." 


Claude's   Own  311 

"Do  you  return  to  Paris,  madame?"  inquired  Richelieu. 

" No.     We  are  already  living  here.     My  chair  is  below." 

"Permit  me,  then,  to  escort  you,"  said  Claude,  seeing 
that  Deborah  did  not  press  her  to  remain. 

"  My  dear  Count,  you  must  resign  that  happiness  to  me/' 
observed  Richelieu.  "1  am  to  sup  with  the  King,  and  1 
have  just  time  to  reach  Paris.  Mme.  de  Mailly,  I  trust  that 
our  first  meeting  may  prove  our  shortest." 

"  That  is  safe  gallantry,  monsieur,  since  one  could  scarce 
be  shorter,"  returned  Deborah,  with  something  of  her  usual 
manner. 

"  Ah !  That  was  better.  Perhaps  it  is  only  embarrass- 
ment," thought  Richelieu,  as  he  made  his  farewells  to 
Claude  and  bowed  to  Deborah's  courtesy. 

A  moment  later  de  Mailly  and  his  wife  were  alone  to- 
gether. The  sound  of  steps  in  the  outer  hall  had  died 
away.  The  little  salon  was  quiet.  Then  the  man  and 
woman  faced  each  other,  Deborah  mute,  heavy-eyed,  ex- 
pressionless, her  husband  curious  and  expectant.  After 
two  minutes  of  uncomfortable  silence  he  spoke : 

"What  is  the  matter,  Debby?  What  has  Victorine  de 
Coigny  said  to  you?" 

Then,  to  his  utter  amazement,  for  he  had  never  imagined 
her  doing  such  a  thing,  he  saw  the  girl's  lip  tremble,  her 
face  work  convulsively  with  effort  at  control,  and  finally, 
as  an  ominous  drop  suddenly  rolled  over  her  eye  and  down 
her  cheek,  she  turned  from  him  sharply  and  ran  into  her 
boudoir,  shutting  the  door  after  her. 

Before  Deborah  consented  to  come  forth  from  her  retreat, 
his  Grace  de  Richelieu  had  arrived  at  the  Tuileries,  made  a 
necessary  alteration  in  his  dress,  and  was  admitted  to  the 
presence  of  the  King,  who,  in  company  with  de  Ge"vres  and 
Maurepas,  awaited  him  in  the  small  supper -room.  The 
Duke  made  proper  apologies  for  tardiness,  which  Louis 
graciously  accepted  on  condition  that,  during  the  entre- 
mets, he  should  recount  the  adventure  that  had  kept 
tim. 

"  Ah,  Sire,  it  has  been  my  fortune  to  encounter  the  lady 


312        The  House   of  de  Mailly 

whom  you  deigned  to  salute  on  Saturday,  in  the  window  of 
the  Hotel  de  Mailly." 

There  was  a  murmur  of  interest  from  the  other  two  as 
the  King  looked  up.  "By  my  faith,  du  Plessis,  you  are 
phenomenal!  Who  is  she? — what  is  she?  Is  she  eligible 
— or  not?" 

"Ah!"  A  sudden  thought  crossed  Richelieu's  mind. 
He  answered  very  slowly,  crumbling  a  bit  of  bread  the 
while,  "  She  is  the  Countess  de  Mailly,  Claude's  wife,  and 
so  a  cousin  to  Madame  la  Duchesse  de  Chateauroux." 

There  was  a  pause.  The  atmosphere  was  dubious. 
De  Gevres  and  Maurepas  rejoiced  to  think  that  they  had 
been  wise  enough  to  voice  no  curiosity.  Richelieu,  per- 
fectly calm,  inwardly  calculating,  finished  his  soup.  Sud- 
denly Louis's  mouth  twitched,  his  eyes  twinkled,  and  he 
permitted  himself  to  laugh. 

"Parbleu!  he  has  taste  in  women,  this  Claude!  Have 
her  presented,  du  Plessis,  and  de  Mailly  shall  have  back 
his  place.  Her  Majesty  holds  a  salon  on  Sunday — the 
2  ist,  hein?  Have  her  presented  at  all  hazards.  By  my 
faith,  the  fellow  has  a  taste  in  women!" 


CHAPTER  V 

Two    Presentations 

PON  the  1 8th  of  November  their  Majesties,  the 
dauphin,  the  royal  suites,  and,  in  a  word, 
the  French  Court,  returned  to  Versailles  and 
took  up  its  abode  in  palace  or  town  for  the 
winter.  The  little  city  was  alive  with  nobility 
and  nobility's  servants.  Every  fourth  person  one  met  bore 
with  him,  as  a  mantle  of  dignity,  some  fifteen  generations 
of  ancestry ;  and  every  third  man  with  whom  one  came  in 
contact  was  one  whose  forebears,  for  fifteen  misty  and  not 
wholly  glorious  generations,  had  been  accustomed  to  the 
honor  of  adjusting  nobility's  wig  and  helping  him  on  with 
his  coat. 

The  great  park  of  Versailles,  with  its  leafless  bos- 
quets, its  bare  avenues,  its  deadened  terraces,  its  lifeless 
fountains,  was  forlorn  enough.  But  within  the  monster 
palace  hard  by  everything  hummed  with  preparation  for 
the  gayest  of  winters.  Here  was  a  hero-King  returned 
from  the  scene  of  his  heroisms,  bored  with  doughty  deeds, 
waiting  to  be  entertained  with  matters  strained  to  less 
heroic  pitch.  There  on  the  second  floor,  behind  the  court 
of  the  grand  staircase,  with  a  little  private  stair  of  its  own, 
empty  and  desolate  behind  its  locked  doors,  lay  the  deserted 
suite  of  the  favorite's  rooms.  And  who  shall  say  how  many 
a  great  lady,  honorable  to  her  finger-tips,  with  some  honor 
to  spare,  cast  a  mute,  curious  glance  at  that  closed  door,  in 
passing,  and  went  her  way  with  a  new  question  in  her 
heart?  Who  shall  tell  the  germs  of  intrigue,  struggling 
jealousy,  rivalry,  hatred,  ambition,  and  care  that  were 
fostered  in  this  abode  of  kings  during  that  third  week  in 


314         The  House   of  de  Mailly 

November,  when  the  "season"  was  budding,  and  would, 
on  Sunday  night,  at  the  Queen's  first  salon,  open  into  a 
perfect  flower? 

During  that  week,  ever  since  Richelieu's  visit  on  Mon- 
day, one  would  scarcely  have  thought  that  Deborah  de 
Mailly  had  had  time  for  thinking.  There  was  never  an 
hour  when  she  could  be  alone.  Claude's  words  were  proven 
true.  She  had  known  nothing  of  what  this  life  would 
mean;  and  she  possessed  not  one  leisure  moment  which 
she  could  have  given  to  the  care  of  their  abiding-place. 
Slightly  to  her  husband's  surprise,  certainly  much  to  her 
own  amazement,  she  had  become  a  little  sensation;  and 
almost  every  member  of  the  Court  followed  the  speedy  ex- 
ample of  Mme.  de  Mirepoix  and  called  upon  her  during 
that  first  week.  The  tale  of  the  King's  salute,  of  her  forth- 
coming presentation,  and,  more  than  all,  a  story  whispered 
behind  Richelieu's  hand  of  a  possible  favoritism,  had 
wrought  this  result. 

Deborah  bore  herself  very  well  at  the  innumerable  after- 
noon visits.  Claude  was  always  with  her;  but,  after  the 
first  two  days,  she  ceased  to  watch  his  eye,  and  found 
herself  able  to  pay  some  little  attention  to  the  character- 
istics of  the  different  people.  She  had  small  fancy  for  the 
Marechale  de  Coigny,  and  an  equally  accountable  dislike 
for  de  Bernis,  who,  for  some  reason  of  his  own,  paid  her 
assiduous  attention. 

Each  morning  Deborah  went  to  Paris,  to  her  milliner's, 
where  the  presentation  dress  was  being  made.  Claude 
almost  always  accompanied  her  on  these  trips,  and  during 
the  long  drives  there  should  have  been  more  than  enough 
opportunity  for  them  to  discuss  her  first  impressions  of  the 
new  life.  Though  Claude  could  not  tell  why,  such  con- 
versations never  occurred.  He  felt,  vaguely,  that  his  wife 
was  holding  aloof  from  him.  She  was  perfectly  courteous, 
sometimes  merry,  in  his  company ;  but  she  was  never  con- 
fiding as  she  had  been.  At  home  there  was  no  longer  any 
necessity  for  them  to  linger  in  an  antechamber  before  re- 
tiring, for  the  sake  of  being  alone  together,  After  eleven 


Two   Presentations  315 

at  night  they  had  their  apartment  to  themselves.  But, 
oddly  enough,  they  now  never  saw  each  other  alone.  Deb- 
orah was  occupied,  was  too  tired,  was  not  in  the  mood — any 
of  a  thousand  things.  Claude  wondered,  and  was  disap- 
pointed, but  never  pressed  the  point.  Not  once  did  it  occur 
to  him  to  connect  her  present  impenetrability  with  the 
singular  crying-spell  on  Monday  evening,  after  her  after- 
noon alone  with  Victorine  de  Coigny.  He  put  her  new 
manner  down  rather  to  the  growing  influence  of  the  Court 
customs.  And  perhaps,  to  some  extent,  he  was  right. 

Just  now  Claude's  attention,  like  that  of  the  rest  of  the 
Court,  was  concentrated  upon  the  approaching  Sunday 
evening.  He  was  ambitious  for  Deborah.  He  wanted 
to  make  her  success  as  great  as  possible.  The  danger 
of  success  he  knew,  perhaps,  but  the  other  alternative  was 
worse;  and,  besides,  not  a  hint  of  Richelieu's  careful  gossip 
had  reached  his  ears.  As  to  the  royal  salute  which  had, 
at  the  time,  so  annoyed  him,  he  had  now  all  but  forgotten 
it  in  the  renewal  of  his  old  connections,  his  old  associa- 
tions with  every  foot  of  this  ground  that  was  home  to 
him.  He  had  played  a  good  deal  during  the  week,  to 
such  purpose  that  there  was  now  small  cause  to  fear  the 
necessary  expenditures  for  the  winter;  and  out  of  his 
first  day's  winnings  at  Berkley's  he  could  pay  for  Deb- 
orah's entire  wardrobe.  Claude  took  more  interest  than 
his  wife  herself,  perhaps,  in  the  presentation  dress,  which 
had  been  especially  designed  to  emphasize  her  freshness, 
her  youth,  and  her  slender  figure.  She  was  to  wear  very 
small  hoops,  which  articles  of  dress  were  now  in  their  larg- 
est possible  state,  preparatory  to  a  long -needed  collapse 
to  the  graceful  puffs  of  the  Pompadour  era.  Her  petticoat 
was  of  white  India  cre'pe,  embroidered  in  white.  Her  over- 
dress was  of  lace,  made  en  princesse,  with  the  train  falling 
from  the  shoulders  and  flowing  behind  her  for  more  than 
a  yard,  like  a  trail  of  foam  in  the  wake  of  a  ship. 

The  busy  week  ended  almost  too  soon,  and  Sunday 
dawned — about  an  hour  before  his  Majesty  rose.  During 
the  morning  Versailles  was  deserted.  Not  a  lady  had  risen, 


316         The  Mouse   of  de  Mailly 

and  the  gentlemen  went  shooting,  after  mass,  with  his 
Majesty.  Deborah,  greatly  to  her  displeasure,  had  been 
commanded  to  stay  in  bed  till  three  in  the  afternoon,  at 
which  hour  she  might  begin  her  toilet.  Claude  was  with 
the  hunting-party,  however,  and  his  wife  rose  at  ten  o'clock 
and  had  her  chocolate  in  the  dining-room,  to  the  bland 
amazement  of  the  first  lackey.  A  little  later,  however, 
Madame  la  Comtesse  regretted  her  wilfulness,  for  she  had 
nothing  to  do.  Despite  Mme.  de  Conti's  reassuring  in- 
structions, she  was  extremely  nervous  as  to  the  evening. 
She  had  already  practised  the  presentation  at  home,  with 
Julie  for  her  Majesty,  chairs  for  the  ladies  of  honor,  and 
the  King  rather  inadequately  represented  by  her  dressing- 
table.  This  morning,  however,  Deborah  was  not  in  the 
mood  for  the  tiresome  manoeuvres,  but  instead  sat  dis- 
consolately at  the  window,  rigorously  keeping  her  thoughts 
from  home,  and  trying  to  fasten  them,  for  want  of  a  better 
subject,  on  the  lady  who  was  also  to  be  presented  that 
evening  by  Mme.  de  Conti.  This,  as  history  would  have 
it,  was  a  person  of  somewhat  humbler  birth  than  Deb- 
orah herself,  styled  in  the  beginning  Jeanne  Poisson, 
later  wedded  to  solid  Lenormand  d'Etioles,  and  at  some 
day  now  neither  dim  nor  distant  to  become  that  Marquise 
de  Pompadour  whom  an  Empress  of  Austria  should  salute 
as  an  equal.  Deborah  mused  for  some  time  on  this  un- 
known lady,  ate  her  solitary  dinner  without  appetite,  and 
lay  on  her  salon  sofa  for  two  hours  more,  thinking  un- 
happily of  Maryland,  before  Julie  roused  her  to  begin  the 
momentous  toilet. 

Evening  drew  on  apace..  Claude,  returning  at  some- 
thing past  five  from  his  royal  day,  found  the  hair-dresser 
at  his  task,  and  so  proceeded  to  dress  before  he  visited  his 
wife.  Supper  was  served  to  monsieur  and  madame  in 
their  rooms.  Claude  ate  heartily  and  gossiped  with  his 
valet  while  his  wig  was  being  adjusted,  his  face  powdered, 
and  his  suit,  the  most  costly  that  he  had  ever  worn,  together 
with  his  diamonds,  put  on.  When  all  was  to  his  taste,  he 
despatched  Rochard  to  inquire,  with  much  ceremony,  if 


Two    Presentations  317 

madame  would  receive  her  lord.  Madame  would.  And 
so  Claude,  with  a  smile  of  anticipation,  drew  from  a  little 
cabinet  a  large,  flat,  purple  morocco  box,  and,  with  this 
in  his  hand,  crossed  the  passage  and  tapped  gently  at 
the  door  of  Deborah's  boudoir. 

Julie  opened  it.  Within,  facing  him,  her  back  to  the 
toilet-table,  stood  his  wife.  The  room  was  not  very  light. 
Only  four  candles  burned  in  it,  and  the  disorder  of  the 
little  place  was  but  dimly  exposed.  Deborah  was  quite 
dressed.  Her  figure  looked  taller  than  usual,  from  the 
smallness  of  her  hoops ;  and,  in  her  delicate,  misty  robes, 
with  the  uncertain  light  she  appeared  like  some  shadowy 
spirit.  Claude  stopped  upon  the  threshold  and  looked  at 
her  in  silence.  She  did  not  speak.  And  Julie,  who  had 
rightly  thought  her  mistress  the  most  beautiful  woman  in 
France,  stood  back  in  quick  chagrin  that  Monsieur  le 
Comte  did  not  go  into  ecstasies  of  delight  over  madame. 

"More  light,  Julie.  She  is  very  well  so,  but  there  will 
be  a  trying  glare  in  the  Queen's  salon/'  was  his  first  re- 
mark. 

Deborah  herself  felt  disappointed,  and  turned  aside  as 
her  maid  hastily  lit  the  various  waxen  tapers  in  the  brackets 
on  the  walls.  When  the  little  place  was  as  bright  as  it 
could  be  made,  Claude  went  to  his  wife,  placed  a  hand 
upon  her  shoulder,  and  drew  her  gently  about  till  she  once 
more  faced  him.  Then  he  stood  off  a  little,  critically  ex- 
amining her,  and  carefully  refraining  from  any  expression 
of  his  pleasure.  Finally,  when  he  had  decided  that  art 
could  do  no  more,  he  merely  said,  with  a  little  smile,  "  You 
wear  no  jewels,  Debby." 

She  was  silent  with  displeasure,  knowing  him  to  be  well 
aware  that  she  possessed  none.  He  passed  behind  her, 
however,  picked  up  the  box  that  he  had  brought  in  with 
him,  and  put  it  into  her  hands. 

"It  is  my  presentation  gift,"  he  said,  a  little  wistfully. 

"Claude!"  she  whispered,  without  lifting  the  cover. 

"Open  it — open  and  put  it  on.     It  is  growing  late." 

Quite  breathless  now,  she  opened  the  box,  and  gave  a 


318        The  House    of  de  Mailly 

low  exclamation.  Julie  shrieked  with  rapture,  and  Claude, 
reading  his  wife's  expression,  was  satisfied  with  the  recep- 
tion of  his  gift. 

"Oh,  they  are  much — much  more  beautiful  than  Vir- 
ginia's!" murmured  Deborah,  as,  half  afraid  to  touch 
them,  she  lifted  the  jewels  from  the  box.  They  consisted 
of  three  rows  of  white  pearls,  clasped  with  a  larger  one, 
the  first  string  passing  just  comfortably  about  her  throat, 
the  second  somewhat  longer,  and  the  third  touching  the 
lace  edge  of  her  dress.  The  ornament  was  simple  enough, 
but  the  stones  needed  no  pendants  to  set  them  off.  In  size, 
evenness,  and  purity  they  were  incomparable.  Deborah's 
heart  was  touched.  He  was  very  kind  to  her — as  kind 
as  any  real  lover  could  be.  Why  must  she  always  re- 
member that  she  was  a  secondary  object  to  him?  Why 
could  she  never  forget  that  he  had  only  brought  her  here 
that  his  exile  might  be  ended? 

"Well  then — you  are  pleased?"  he  asked,  still  wistfully. 

"Oh  yes!     You  are  too  good  to  me,  Claude." 

"A  kiss,  then?" 

As  she  kissed  him  gently  upon  the  forehead  he  seized 
one  of  her  hands,  clasped  it  tightly  for  an  instant,  and  then, 
putting  it  quickly  away  from  him,  let  her  go.  Julie  ap- 
proached with  her  wraps,  and  the  lackey  announced  that 
the  coach  was  waiting. 

The  apartments  of  the  Queen  in  the  palace  of  Versailles 
were  on  the  south  side  of  the  rez-de-chauss£e,  in  the  body 
of  the  palace,  looking  out  along  the  south  wing.  They 
consisted  of  five  rooms,  the  Salon  de  la  Reine,  where 
so  many  royal  functions  were  held,  being  between  her 
Majesty's  bedroom  and  the  Salle  du  Grand  Couvert;  while 
a  third  door  on  the  north  side  opened  into  the  antechamber 
which  led  out  to  the  Court  of  the  Staircase.  This  last 
small  room  was,  to  her  Majesty's  circle,  what  the  CEil-de- 
Breuf  was  to  the  general  court. 

The  reception  planned  for  this  evening  of  Sunday, 
November  2 1st,  was  to  be  rather  more  ceremonious  than 
such  affairs  became  later  in  the  season.  There  would  be 


Two    Presentations  319 

six  presentations — a  large  number;  and,  to  the  Queen's 
delight,  not  only  her  usual  small  circle  of  friends,  but  the 
entire  Court,  had  assembled  here  for  the  first  time  in 
more  than  a  year.  Judging  from  her  smiling  appearance, 
it  was  not  probable  that  the  Queen  guessed  that  the  reason 
why  her  rooms  were  so  frequented  was  that  certain  tongues 
had  set  afloat  the  rumor  that  a  new  candidate  for  the 
favorite's  post  was  to  be  presented  to-night  to  Queen  and 
Court,  to  be  judged  by  them  as  eligible  or  not. 

At  one  side  of  her  salon,  upon  a  raised  dais,  beneath  a 
golden  canopy,  sat  Marie  Leczinska,  royally  dressed,  look- 
ing only  like  the  gentle  Polish  woman  that  she  was,  talking 
in  low  tones  with  Mme.  de  Boufflers,  who  would  have  liked 
very  well  to  escape  for  a  few  moments  into  the  throng.  In 
two  semicircular  lines,  from  the  throne  to  the  door  of  the 
anteroom,  leaving  between  them  an  open  space,  stood  the 
dames  d 'etiquette,  or,  more  properly,  the  ladies  of  the  pal- 
ace of  the  Queen,  among  whom,  magnificently  dressed, 
with  the  proceeds  of  her  forthcoming  task,  was  the  Prin- 
cess de  Conti.  Behind  these  formidable  rows  the  rest  of 
the  Court  stood,  packed  in  such  close  masses  that  many 
a  hooped  toilet  was  threatened  with  collapse.  About  the 
throne  were  gathered  the  Queen's  immediate  friends,  the 
"Saints,"  as  they  were  termed  by  members  of  the  King's 
set;  Mme.  de  Boufflers,  from  necessity;  the  Due  and 
Duchesse  de  Luynes;  M.  and  Mme.  de  la  Vauguyon; 
the  Due  and  Duchesse  de  Luxembourg;  the  Cardinal  de 
Tencin;  the  Cardinal  de  Luynes;  Mme.  d'Alincourt;  the 
inevitable  Pere  Griffet;  and  President  Renault.  One  per- 
son, however,  who  was  becoming  a  very  familiar  figure 
to  the  Queen's  household,  was  not  with  them  to-night. 
This  was  the  Abbe  Francois  de  Bernis,  whose  connection 
with  Mme.  de  Coigny  had  never  been  discussed  in  that  part 
of  the  palace. 

M.  de  Bernis  was  not,  however,  absent  from  Court  on  this 
interesting  occasion.  At  the  present  moment  he  was  in 
the  antechamber,  conversing  in  his  peculiarly  charming 
manner  with  a  lady  to  whom  he  had  just  been  presented  by 


320        The  House   of  de  Mailly 

Richelieu,  and  who  was  to  be  presented  to  the  Queen  by 
Mme.  de  Conti  —  Mme.  Lenorraand  d'Etioles.  An  ex- 
tremely pretty  woman  she  was,  thought  the  abbe ;  and  well 
dressed  also,  in  her  white  satin,  with  stately  hoops,  and 
her  neck  covered  with  the  sapphires  that  matched  her  eyes. 
While  chatting  with  de  Bernis  she  eyed  Richelieu  or 
made  close  scrutinies  of  the  half-dozen  other  ladies  in  the 
room,  with  one  of  whom  her  stout  husband  was  talking 
nervously. 

"Are  all  the  women  here,  Monsieur  1'AbbeT'  she  asked, 
presently. 

De  Bernis  glanced  about  him.  "1  have  not  yet  seen 
Mme.  de  Mailly.  She  is  late." 

"Ah,  Mme.  de  Mailly — the  new  Countess,  is  she  not? 
I  am  curious  to  see  her.  She  is  a  cousin  of  Mme.  de  Cha- 
teauroux." 

"Her  husband  is  the  cousin.  His  wife — "  de  Bernis 
shrugged — "ended  his  exile  for  him,  and  so  brought  him 
back  to  his  famous  Marie  Anne.  However,  they  say  that 
he  never  sees  her  now,  so  furious  is  the  jealousy  of  his  fair 
colonial.  You  know  it  has  been  whispered,  madame,  that 
his  Majesty  is  less  insensible  than  the  young  de  Mailly." 

"Ah!  She  is  not  lost  yet,  then?"  inquired  Mme. 
d'Etioles,  hastily. 

"Not  yet.  But — when  you  have  been  presented,  ma- 
dame — "  and  de  Bernis  finished  the  tactful  sentence  with  a 
look  which  completed  it  admirably. 

Mme.  d'Etioles  smiled  with  affected  indifference;  and  her 
next  remark  was  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  some  one 
whose  arrival  at  the  anteroom  created  a  small  sensation. 
Deborah,  with  Claude  beside  her,  carrying  her  cloak,  and 
Henri  de  Mailly  a  step  behind,  with  her  fan  and  scarf, 
floated  delicately  in,  her  laces  trailing  noiselessly  about  her, 
apparently  unconscious  of  her  beauty,  or  of  the  fact  that 
every  eye  in  the  little  place  was  upon  her.  Richelieu, 
abruptly  leaving  de  Mouhy,  hurried  to  her  side,  inwardly 
delighted  with  her  appearance.  To  Claude's  surprise, 
and  perhaps  a  little  to  Deborah's  also,  he  paid  her  no  com- 


Two    Presentations  321 

pliment  whatever,  but  merely  began  a  flying  conversation 
on  the  people,  the  evening,  and  the  season's  promise  of 
gayety. 

"So  that  is  the  Countess  de  Mailly,"  observed  Mme. 
d'Etioles,  after  a  long  scrutiny.  "How  very — a — colonial 
she  appears,  and  how  inelegant  she  is  with  those  small 
hoops !  Her  manner  is  bourgeois,  one  can  perceive  at  once. 
Present  her  to  me,  Monsieur  1'Abbe." 

De  Bernis,  with  an  inward  smile  and  very  willing  obe- 
dience, crossed  over  to  Mme.  de  Mailly,  and,  after  his  salu- 
tation and  some  murmured  phrases  that  made  Deborah 
flush,  informed  her  of  the  request  of  Mme.  d'Etioles.  Debo- 
rah assented  readily,  for  she  hailed  with  no  little  relief  the 
prospect  of  talking  to  a  woman.  She  was  not  fond  of  the 
conspicuousness  that  Court  ladies  struggled  for,  and  which 
resulted  from  being  surrounded  with  men.  A  Maryland 
training  was  not  that  of  Versailles.' 

In  the  end  it  was  Richelieu  who  performed  the  introduction 
between  the  women.  After  their  courtesies,  Mme.  d'Etioles 
addressed  Deborah  very  cordially,  and  with  so  many  pretty 
words  about  her  toilet  that  de  Bernis  nodded  to  himself  at 
her  display  of  one  of  the  traits  which  promised  a  Court  suc- 
cess. While  the  little  group  stood  talking  in  one  corner  of 
the  anteroom  the  first  lady  was  summoned  for  presenta- 
tion. No  one  but  the  abbe  took  any  notice  of  the  exit.  He, 
however,  whispered  to  Richelieu : 

"  They  say  that  the  King  will  not  be  present  this  even- 
ing. Is  it  so?" 

The  Duke  took  snuff,  slowly.  "  My  dear  abbe",  if  I  could 
read  his  Majesty's  mind  I  should  be  first  minister  in  a 
week/' 

De  Bernis  smiled,  but  looked  unsatisfied  as  he  turned 
again  to  the  ladies.  Presently,  however,  Richelieu  contin- 
ued in  his  ear :  "  The  King  had  supper  with  Monseigneur, 
who  made  certain  dutiful  remarks  regarding  his  fiancee, 
the  Infanta  Marie.  These,  since  they  might  be  construed 
into  casting  a  slur  on  his  Majesty's  devotion  to  the  Queen, 
threw  Louis  into  a^— well,  a  temper.  One  cannot  tell  wheth- 
21 


322        The  House   of  de  Mailly 

er  he  will  recover  or  not.  1,  like  the  rest  of  the  Court,  shall 
infinitely  regret  it  if  he  does  not  receive  these  charming 
women." 

"  Ah,  my  lord,  has  it  ever  occurred  to  you — beneath  the 
rose — that  Mme.  de  Mailly  almost,  in  beauty  and  charm, 
approaches  her — cousin,  the  Duchesse  de  Chateauroux?" 

A  quick  frown  passed  over  Richelieu's  face,  and  he 
glanced  sharply  about  him.  Seeing  no  one  who  could 
have  overheard  the  remark,  however,  he  nodded  shortly, 
saying  in  a  tone  that  finished  the  matter :  "  Approaches — 
perhaps.  That,  Monsieur  1'Abbe,  many  women  might 
do." 

By  this  time,  in  the  salon,  the  first  four  presentations 
were  over.  They  had  been  utterly  uninteresting,  the  cos- 
tumes commonplace,  the  courtesies  only  passably  exe- 
cuted, and,  worse  than  all,  the  King  had  not  appeared. 
It  was  already  long  after  ten  o'clock,  and  there  was  small 
chance  now  of  his  entering  on  the  scene.  The  Court 
yawned,  not  even  behind  its  hand,  and  the  very  "  saints  " 
began  to  long  for  some  better  amusement.  Rumor  of  in- 
terest to  be  found  in  such  functions  was  certainly  false. 

After  the  fourth  presentation  came  a  pause. 

"Are  they  finished?"  inquired  the  Queen,  hopefully,  of 
the  first  lady. 

"  Mme.  de  Conti  announces  still  two  more,  your  Majesty." 

"Two!  That  is  not  quite  customary.  However,  bid  her 
hasten  them.  This  is  very  fatiguing." 

A  moment  later  the  Princess  de  Conti  passed  into  the 
antechamber,  the  pages  at  her  side.  Two  or  three  moments 
after  came  the  clear  announcement  from  the  chamberlain, 
at  the  door : 

"  Mme.  de  Conti  has  the  honor  to  present  to  her  Majesty 
the  Comtesse  de  Nesle  de  Mailly." 

At  that  moment  a  small,  tapestried  door  cut  in  the  wall 
beside  the  throne,  and  designed  for  unceremonious  escape 
or  arrival  of  royalty,  was  pushed  quietly  open,  and  Louis 
appeared.  He  was  not  instantly  perceived,  for  every  eye 
in  the  room  was  just  then  fixed  on  Deborah,  who,  with 


Two    Presentations  323 

Mme.  de  Conti  at  her  side  and  a  royal  page  bearing  her 
train,  entered  and  passed  slowly  up  the  salon  towards  the 
Queen.  Half-way  up  the  aisle,  at  a  slight  sign  from  her 
conductress,  she  made  the  first  reverence.  They  were 
not  simple  to  perform,  these  presentation  courtesies.  One 
was  obliged  to  stop  short  in  the  walk,  and,  without  any 
perceptible  break  in  movement,  sink  slowly  to  the  floor, 
rise  again,  and  proceed.  Many  had  been  the  nervous 
debutante  who  overbalanced  in  going  down,  and  had  to 
be  rescued  from  disgrace  by  the  skill  of  her  lady  of  honor. 
The  barest  murmur  —  approval  from  the  gentlemen  and 
assent  from  the  ladies — floated  through  the  room  as  Deb- 
orah went  gracefully  down  a  second  time.  And  the 
murmur  continued,  changed  into  one  of  surprise,  when, 
Marie  Leczinska  being  perceived  to  have  risen,  the  King 
was  discovered  beside  the  throne,  his  whole  attention  con- 
centrated on  Mme.  de  Mailly  in  her  laces.  Deborah  her- 
self was  extremely  nervous.  She  alone,  of  all  the  roomful, 
had  witnessed  the  entrance  of  the  King.  And  now,  as  she 
finished  the  progress,  her  eyes,  unconscious  of  what  they 
were  doing,  remained  fixed  on  Louis'  face.  The  King  was 
delighted.  He  answered  the  gaze  with  a  slight  smile,  and 
beheld  the  young  woman's  eyes  quickly  fall,  while  the  color 
rushed  into  her  cheeks.  The  Queen,  owing  to  the  presence 
of  her  husband,  stood,  while  Deborah  made  the  last  of  the 
three  grand  courtesies.  Her  Majesty  was  greatly  pleased 
with  the  youthful  innocence  of  Mme.  de  Mailly's  face  and 
the  odd  simplicity  of  her  costly  dress.  Therefore,  when 
Deborah  made  the  motion  of  kissing  the  hem  of  her  gar- 
ment, she  extended  her  hand  instead,  and  afterwards 
murmured,  graciously : 

"  It  is  with  delight,  madame,  that  we  receive  you  in  our 
salon." 

And  as  Claude's  wife  repeated  the  formula  of  her  grati- 
tude and  devotion,  his  Majesty  gayly  advanced,  and,  with 
a  "Permit  me,  Madame  la  Comtesse,"  kissed  her,  as  was 
his  custom,  upon  the  left  cheek. 

Deborah  had  not  been  informed  of  this  possible  part  of 


324        The   House  of  de  Mailly 

the  ceremony,  and  would  have  backed  away  in  horror  had 
not  Mme.  de  Conti  vigorously  pinched  her  arm.  A  moment 
later  they  began  the  retreat.  This  time  all  the  ladies  of 
the  palace  must  be  included  in  the  semi-courtesies  which 
occurred  with  every  four  or  five  backward  steps.  It  was 
a  difficult  performance  for  all  three  of  the  party,  the  pre- 
sented, the  presenter,  and  the  train-bearer.  Moreover,  it 
was  generally  done  under  a  running  fire  of  whispered 
comments,  some  of  which  generally  reached  the  ears  of 
the  debutante.  Only  one  speech,  however,  was  audible  to 
Deborah  as  she  passed ;  and  over  this  she  pondered,  at  in- 
tervals, for  some  days  after,  so  that,  when  its  full  meaning 
was  apparent  to  her,  the  shock  of  it  was  lessened. 

"  Positively,  my  dear,"  observed  Mme.  Crequy  to  Mme. 
de  Grammont,  "  I  begin  to  believe  that  the  post  is  heredi- 
tary in  this  family." 

It  was  with  a  sigh  of  perfect  relief  that  Deborah  saw 
the  portiere  of  the  antechamber  fall  before  her,  blotting 
out  the  view  of  the  salon,  and,  as  she  turned  to  Claude, 
Mme.  de  Conti  said  to  her,  graciously: 

"Madame,  permit  me  to  make  you  my  compliments  on 
a  most  successful  debut.  It  is  a  pleasure  to  have  been 
your  conductress." 

Mme.  d'Etioles,  hearing  this  from  the  corner  wherein 
she  still  talked  with  de  Bernis,  at  once  advanced  to  her: 
"  Mme.  de  Mailly,  you  put  me  in  a  difficult  position.  How 
am  1  to  equal  your  success?" 

Deborah  looked  a  little  nonplussed,  for  the  insincerity 
of  the  remark  was  perfectly  apparent  to  her.  Claude, 
however,  said  at  once,  "Mme.  d'Etioles,  you  have  but 
to  enter  the  room,  when  any  one  who  appeared  before  you 
will  be  utterly  forgotten." 

Mme.  Lenormand  was  satisfied,  and  responded  to  her 
summons  without  any  apparent  embarrassment.  She  was 
so  complete  a  contrast  to  Mme.  de  Mailly  that  the  two 
were  not  compared.  Her  manner,  her  bearing,  her  dress, 
all  were  perfectly  conventional,  all  were  of  Court  make, 
and  of  such  extreme  elegance  that  they  defied  criticism. 


Two    Presentations  325 

There  was  neither  affectation  nor  particular  modesty  in  her 
air  as  she  made  her  three  graceful  courtesies,  was  addressed 
by  the  Queen,  and  saluted  by  the  King.  Neither  were 
there  many  comments  while  she  performed  the  retreat.  She 
was  more  or  less  a  familiar  figure  to  the  Court,  where,  though 
the  fact  of  her  low  birth  hampered  her  at  every  turn,  she 
was  secretly  a  good  deal  admired  by  many.  On  her  re- 
turn to  the  antechamber  her  husband  received  her,  she 
exchanged  a  few  cool  words  with  him,  a  jest  with  de  Bernis, 
and  then,  leaning  upon  the  arm  of  the  latter,  returned  to 
the  salon,  which  was  now  a  lively  and  informal  scene. 

The  presentation  of  Mme.  d'Etioles  having  been  the 
last  of  the  evening,  her  Majesty  descended  from  the  dais, 
the  lines  of  the  ladies  of  the  palace  were  broken,  and  the 
promenade  began.  Richelieu,  taking  a  flattering  leave 
of  Claude  and  Deborah,  made  his  way  as  rapidly  as  pos- 
sible to  his  Majesty,  who,  by  a  coincidence,  was  hurrying 
towards  him. 

"  Ah,  du  Plessis,  I  find  that  I  did  well  to  come.  Where 
is  d'Argenson?" 

"Just  behind  us,  Sire.  He  is  talking  with  the  Count 
de  Mailly." 

"  Come  with  me,  then.  I  must  speak  to  them  both,  but 
separately.  You  understand?  You  will  occupy  one, 
while — " 

"I  understand,  Sire." 

Claude  and  young  Marc  Antoine  ceased  their  conver- 
sation as  the  King  approached.  After  saluting  both  gen- 
tlemen, his  Majesty  turned  to  Claude.  "Monsieur,"  he 
said,  heartily,  "  we  welcome  your  return  with  the  greatest 
satisfaction.  You  read  our  letter  well.  Oh,  we  have  not 
forgotten,  you  see.  And  we — compliment  you,  monsieur, 
upon  having  won  the  most  charming  of  ladies.  She  is 
English,  Monsieur  le  Comte?" 

"From  the  colonies,  Sire." 

"A  pity  they  are  so  far  away.  One  would  like  to  visit 
them." 

Claude   forced   a    smile,  while   Louis    turned   next   to 


326         The  House   of  de  Mailly 

d'Argenson.  Upon  this  Richelieu  at  once  crossed  to  the 
Count  and  opened  conversation  with  him  so  adroitly  that 
the  King's  next  remarks  were  happily  inaudible. 

"  And,  by-trie-way,  my  dear  Voyer — put  Mme.  de  Mailly, 
the  new  Countess,  on  the  supper-list  for  Choisy." 

D'Argenson  bowed  profoundly,  to  conceal  his  expression. 
"And— Mme.  d'Etioles,  Sire?"  he  ventured. 

Louis  hesitated.     "Not — not  as  yet/'  he  said,  finally. 


CHAPTER  VI 

Snuff-Boxes 

T  was  the  afternoon  of  November  22d,  ten 
days  after  the  King's  return  to  Paris,  not 
yet  twenty -four  hours  since  her  Majesty's 
first  salon  at  Versailles.  The  Abbe1  de 
Bernis,  companionless,  was  proceeding  slow- 
ly out  of  the  grand  entrance  of  the  palace  and  down 
the  broad  avenue  towards  the  first  fountain.  It  was 
a  raw  day,  gray  and  bleak,  with  a  northeast  Austrian 
wind,  and  an  atmosphere  resembling  the  relations  be- 
tween France  and  England.  Nevertheless,  the  Abb6 
Francois  was  not  walking  hurriedly.  If  he  were  going 
into  the  town  of  Versailles,  he  was  taking  a  circuitous 
route.  The  dress  that  he  wore  was  decidedly  non-clerical, 
being  a  rich  costume  of  cramoisie  satin,  with  very  present- 
able Mechlin  ruffles,  and  a  heavily  embroidered  waist- 
coat. The  wig  was  the  only  thing  about  him  that  pro- 
claimed his  calling,  and  even  that,  just  now,  was  concealed 
by  his  hat  and  the  high  collar  of  the  black  cloak  in  which 
he  was  muffled. 

De  Bernis  was  on  his  way  to  spend  an  hour  or  two  with 
Mme.  de  Coigny,  whom  of  late  he  felt  that  he  had  neglect- 
ed; and  as  he  walked  he  reflected  upon  certain  objective 
but  important  things.  In  the  Court  circles,  as  they  stood 
to-day,  and  as  he  carefully  reviewed  them,  there  were 
infinite  possibilities  for  advancement.  It  was  a  time 
when  no  level-headed  man  could  fail  to  take  certain  ad- 
vantages of  the  present  situation  for  the  betterment  of  his 
position.  For  the  first  time  in  ten  years,  the  Court  was 
open.  No  favorite  ruled  the  King,  and,  by  consequence, 


328         The   House   of  de  Mailly 

the  kingdom.  And  here  the  way  was  almost  as  clear  for 
the  ambitious  among  men  as  among  women.  For  he 
who  should  be  the  one  to  bring  to  the  notice  of  the  King 
of  France  his  next  more  than  queen  might,  by  his  own 
unaided  effort,  obtain  all  the  honor,  glory,  and  left-handed, 
subtle  power  now  divided  among  half  a  dozen  minister? 
and  courtiers. 

By  the  time  de  Bernis  got  so  far  in  his  meditations 
he  had  reached  the  Star,  and  was  about  to  enter  the 
grand  park,  with  its  love -named  allies,  and  the  gloomy 
bosquets,  so  enticing  in  summer,  now  so  grimly  gray. 
The  bare,  black  trees  and  shrubs,  the  frozen  ground,  the 
unshaded  statues,  poetic  only  when  set  in  plumy  foliage, 
hideous  and  indelicate  now — all  suddenly  flashed  over  the 
abba's  senses  as  being  like  the  remains  of  a  dead  passion, 
stripped  of  all  the  softening  graces  and  secret  beauty  lent 
by  love  when  love  is  hot.  The  simile  turned  his  mind 
again  to  the  woman  whom  he  was  going  to  see — Victo- 
rine,  the  little  Victorine,  whose  whimsicalities  had  won  his 
heart,  but  who  was  as  tiresome  as  any  other  woman  when 
she  became  to  him  devoted,  submissive,  content  to  obey, 
without  even  the  desire  to  rouse  jealousy  in  him.  Was  he 
tired  of  Victorine?  Was  her  influence  gone?  Was  she  no 
longer  of  any  use?  De  Bernis  paused  for  an  instant  and 
thought.  Of  use?  There  was  only  one  usage  to  which  he 
could  put  a  woman  of  Mme.  de  Coigny's  position.  That 
was — make,  or  at  least  attempt  to  make,  her  the  great- 
est lady  at  Court.  Would  Victorine  de  Coigny  be  capa- 
ble of  filling  that  place  at  his  request?  Had  she  influence 
enough  in  high  places?  Would  she  be  fresh  enough  to 
his  Majesty  to  please?  Should  he  make  the  attempt? 

By  the  time  the  abb6  reached  his  temporary  destina- 
tion he  had  made  shift  to  answer  his  not  very  creditable 
questions  and  come  to  a  kind  of  hazy  determination  con- 
cerning his  course. 

Mme.  de  Coigny  was  at  home  and  would  receive  him. 
He  was  shown  directly  from  the  antechamber  to  the  little 
salon  off  her  boudoir.  Here  he  seated  himself  by  the 


Snuff-Boxes  329 


heavily  curtained  window,  after  throwing  hat  and  cloak 
upon  a  chair  beside  the  tall  escritoire.  Madame  kept  him 
waiting.  He  crossed  his  knees,  and  pulled  from  one  of 
his  pockets  a  little  article  wrapped  in  a  feminine  hand- 
kerchief. Returning  the  wrapper  to  the  pocket,  he  sat 
idly  examining  what  he  held.  It  was  a  cross  of  golden 
filigree,  apparently  of  Eastern  workmanship,  and  set 
with  red  stones.  The  sun,  at  the  moment,  was  near  to 
breaking  through  the  clouds,  and  he  held  the  little  thing 
up  to  watch  the  light  play  over  the  garnets,  when  the 
boudoir  door  opened  and  Victorine  came  quietly  in. 

"What  have  you  there,  Francois?" 

He  rose,  looked  approvingly  at  her  toilet,  and  held  out 
the  cross. 

"  I  found  this,  by  chance,  two  or  three  days  ago  among 
some  old  possessions  of  mine  sent  from  Tours.  Would 
you  care  for  it?  I  offer  it — not  as  a  symbol,  you  under- 
stand. Merely  an  ornament.  It  is  not  valuable." 

"Thank  you.  It  is  valuable  to  me.  1  will  keep  it  al- 
ways— like  all  of  your  gifts." 

He  smiled  slightly  as  she  seated  herself  at  a  little  dis- 
tance from  him.  She  was  even  paler  than  usual,  and 
looked  as  though  she  might  have  been  suffering  physically. 

"You  are  not  well  to-day?"  he  asked,  gently. 

"Oh  yes;  perfectly.  I  am  never  ill.  1  scarcely  saw 
you  last  night.  What  did  you  think  of  the  presentations? 
Is  not  Mme.  de  Mailly  lovely?" 

The  abbe  shrugged.  "Very  pretty.  Parvenu,  how- 
ever. 1  prefer  Mme.  d'Etioles ;  but  you — before  them  all, 
Victorine." 

A  smile  broke  over  her  face,  and,  for  a  moment,  trans- 
figured it.  "  Ah,  Francois,  that  is  as  you  were.  Lately, 
sometimes,  I  had  thought  you  changed  towards  me." 

He  saw  here  an  approaching  opportunity  for  his  dif- 
ficult proposition.  Rising,  he  drew  another  chair  close 
to  her,  seated  himself  in  it,  and  negligently  took  one  of 
her  hands  into  both  of  his.  "  Dear  Victorine,  1  shall  never 
change  towards  you,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice.  "  But  there 


330        The  House  of  de    Mailly 

are  some  things — some  things  which  you  do  not  quite 
consider." 

"What  things?  Tell  me,  Francois.  Indeed,  I  will 
consider  them.  Only  tell  me  all  that  is  in  your  heart. 
1  belong  to  you.  You  know  that,"  she  whispered. 

De  Bernis  moved  uneasily.  Tell  what  was  in  his  heart? 
He  was  wiser  than  that ;  but  his  way  was  not  easy.  "  You 
know,  little  one,  that  1  am  not  a  powerful  man — not  an 
influential  one.  Yet  1  am  ambitious.  I  have  but  a  small 
place  to  keep.  There  is  a  great  one  which  1  wish  to  win. 
A  —  cardinal's  hat,  Victorine!  That  is  my  dream!  You 
see,  1  am  opening  my  heart  to  you." 

"Ah,  if  1  could  make  you  a  cardinal — if  I  could  make 
you  Pope,  Francois!  If  1  could  make  you  the  greatest 
man  in  the  world!" 

"You  have  made  me  the  happiest,"  he  answered,  ten- 
derly, touched  a  little  by  her  unselfishness. 

"Then,  if  that  is  true,  Francois,  what  more  can  you 
desire?  The  beretta  could  do  no  more  for  you." 

"I  am  caught,  my  philosopher.  And  yet — and  yet 
ambition  does  remain.  1  am  not  quite  the  happiest  of 
men.  1  would  wish  to  give  yott  a  higher  place.  1  wish 
to  be  worthy  of  you.  1  would  give  you,  for  your  slave, 
the  most  powerful  man  in  France." 

"Ah,"  she  said,  smiling,  "I  could  love  him  no  better 
than  I  love  you.  My  dear,  if  I  were  given  my  choice  be- 
tween you  and  the  King  of  France,  do  you  not  know  which 
I  should  choose?" 

He  bent  over  her  quickly.     "  Which  would  you  choose?" 

"How  can  you  ask?    You  do  not  doubt  me?" 

"  Nay,  but,  Victorine,  if,  by  being  favorite  of  the  Court, 
of  the  King,  you  could  further  your  own  interests,  if  you 
could  further  mine — if  I  asked  it  of  you — " 

He  broke  off  suddenly.     Her  face  was  changing. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  she  demanded,  and  there  was 
something  in  the  tone  which  made  him  thankful  that  he 
had  gone  no  further.  "  Are  " — she  breathed  convulsively, 
but  went  on  in  a  lighter  manner  —  "are  you  testing  me? 


Snuff-  Boxes  331 

Are  you  trying  to  learn  my  nature — how  far  I  would  sink? 
Ah,  Francois,  you,  who  have  given  me  such  joy,  the  only 
happiness  that  I  have  known,  have  given  me  also  my 
greatest  sorrow.  Do  not  think,  because  1  renounced  every- 
thing for  you,  that  1  am  like  the  women  of  the  Court.  1 
loved  you — I  love  you — you  always — more  dearly  than 
— honor.  But,  Francois,  it  was  only  for  love.  I  am  proud 
that  you  had  no  position  to  give  me.  1  swear  to  you,  by 
what  I  still  hold  sacred,  that  if  the  post  won  by  Mme.  de 
Chateauroux  were  offered  me  by  his  Majesty,  on  his 
knees,  I  would  prefer  to  die  than  to  accept  such  a  thing." 
She  passed  her  hand  over  her  forehead,  and  lay  back  again 
in  her  chair,  smiling  a  little  at  his  earnest  frown.  "1  do 
not  censure  Mme.  de  Chateauroux,  Francois,  you  under- 
stand. She  loved  the  King — as  1  love  you." 

The  actual  veracity  of  this  last  statement  was  an  im- 
material thing.  It  was  Victorine's  belief  in  it  that  did 
her  honor.  Francois  did  not  remark  upon  it,  neither  did 
he  voice  any  further  confessions  of  ambition.  Mme.  de 
Coigny  was  singularly  blind  to  her  interests  and  his.  She 
was  not  the  type  of  woman  that  belonged  to  a  court.  True, 
had  her  position  been  rather  more  influential,  no  man 
need  have  desired  better  things  than  would  have  fallen 
to  the  lot  of  the  sagacious  abbe".  But,  being  only  the 
wife  of  a  Marquis  field-marshal,  and  too  single-hearted 
for  wisdom,  she  was  a  luxury  undesirable  for  a  rising  man. 
For  an  instant  de  Bernis'  thoughts  were  directed  to  the 
husband.  After  all,  his  position  as  one  of  the  favorite 
courtiers,  and  one  really  esteemed,  would  have  been  dif- 
ficult to  overcome  in  order  that  madame  might  be  installed 
alone  in  the  palace.  It  was  as  well,  perhaps,  that  her 
trend  of  mind  was  such  as  he  had  discovered  it  to  be.  It 
was  also  as  well  that,  in  the  midst  of  the  reflective  pause, 
the  antechamber  door  should  unexpectedly  have  opened, 
and  M.  de  Coigny  himself  have  entered  the  room. 

"Ah!  Pardon  me,  madame.  I  was  unaware  that  you 
were  engaged." 

Victorine  rose  quickly,  looked  at  her  husband,  saw  his 


332        The  House   of  de  Mailly 

eyes  meet  those  of  the  abbe1,  and  remained  silent.  De 
Coigny  was  about  to  turn  upon  his  heel  and  leave  them, 
to  her  great  relief,  when  Francois  spoke : 

"  I  beg,  monsieur,  that  you  will  not  let  me  deprive  you 
of  madame's  society.  I  am  just  on  the  way  to  Paris,  and 
was  taking  my  leave  as  you  came." 

He  finished,  quite  heedless  of  Victorine's  imploring 
glance,  which,  however,  de  Coigny  caught. 

"  If  you  are  going  to  the  city,  you  must  first  have  some- 
thing— a  glass  of  wine.  Yes,  yes!  It  will  not  be  long. 
I  will  order  at  once." 

In  spite  of  de  Bernis'  earnest  protestation,  Victorine 
summoned  the  valet  and  ordered  wine  and  rissoles  for  all 
three. 

"You  will,  then,  allow  me  to  partake  with  you?"  asked 
the  Mar6chal,  with  a  quizzical  scrutiny  of  his  wife,  who 
merely  nodded,  saying,  dully : 

"We  are  delighted,  monsieur." 

De  Bernis  was  displeased.  It  was  never  agreeable  to  him 
to  face  Jules  de  Coigny,  and  he  would  have  been  glad  to 
escape  at  once  after  that  destructive  silence  of  Victorine's. 
He  had  all  his  ideas  to  readjust,  a  fresh  plan  to  make,  and 
a  verse  or  two  to  compose  for  extemporaneous  use  during 
trie  evening.  However,  he  made  better  show  of  being  at 
ease  for  the  next  quarter  of  an  hour  than  did  madame; 
and  he  managed  to  carry  on  a  very  creditable  conversation 
about  the  Vauvenaigues  salon  while  sipping  his  wine  and 
crumbling  the  pate.  He  took  his  departure,  without  undue 
haste,  at  just  the  right  moment,  kissed  madame's  hand 
with  ceremony,  and  bowed  himself  away  from  the  Mar6- 
chal,  feeling  that  he  should  not  often  see  that  small  salon 
again.  It  would  not  be  wise. 

When  the  abb£  was  gone,  and  Jules  and  his  wife  were 
left  alone  together,  Victorine  looked  uneasily  about  her, 
hoping  for  a  means  of  escape. 

"  I  must  ask  your  pardon,  madame,  once  more,  for  having 
been  so  stupid  as  to  have  intruded  upon  you.  Geiome  did 
not  inform  me — " 


Snuff-Boxes  333 

"  It  is  of  no  consequence,  monsieur.  As  you  heard,  the 
abbe  was  on  the  point  of  departure.  Did  you,  by  some 
chance,  wish  to  speak  with  me?" 

"  The  matter  was  not  of  great  importance.  However,  I 
thought  that  it  might  please  you  to  learn  that  Mme.  de 
Chateauroux  is  likely  soon  to  be  reinstated.  This  after- 
noon his  Majesty  was  good  enough  to  talk  with  me  freely 
en  tete-a-tete.  He  misses  the  Duchess  very  much.  He  is 
preparing,  quietly,  to  place  her  at  her  post  again.  She  is 
your  friend.  I  thought  that  it  might  give  you  pleasure  to 
know.  Of  course,  what  I  have  told  must  not  be  repeated." 

"  Thank  you,  Jules.  I  am  very  glad.  Marie  has  been 
my  good  friend  always." 

"It  was  she,  I  believe,  who  presented  to  you  M.  de 
Bernis?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Victorine,  looking  up  at  him  in  surprise. 

There  was  a  pause.  De  Coigny  should  have  been  mak- 
ing his  departure.  Yet  still  he  stood  there,  as  awkwardly 
as  possible,  half  turned  from  his  wife,  who  sat  regarding 
him  in  some  astonishment,  and  without  the  desire  to  say  a 
word.  The  marshal's  head  drooped  a  little.  He  put  one 
hand  to  his  forehead,  and  seemed  to  be  going  through  an 
inward  struggle.  Several  moments  passed.  Madame 
moved  restlessly.  Finally  she  said : 

"What  is  it,  Jules?  What  have  you  further  to  say  to 
me?" 

Coigny  shook  his  head  and  passed  his  hand  over  his  eyes. 
"  It  is  immaterial,  Victorine.  I  have  already  said  it  once. 
I  will  not  repeat  myself.  It  is — immaterial,  I  say.  Good- 
afternoon." 

"Good-afternoon." 

And  thus  it  was  to  the  vague  relief  of  the  woman  that 
he  left  her  there,  in  her  small  salon,  alone. 

The  first  part  of  the  foregoing  conversation  might  have 
proved  very  serviceable,  at  this  time,  to  the  Abbe"  de  Bernis. 
He  was  not,  however,  so  fortunate  as  even  to  chance  upon 
the  idea  of  such  a  thing  as  the  reinstallation  of  la  Cha- 
teauroux. As  he  drove  towards  Paris  he  continued  his 


334        The  House  of  de  Mailly 

meditations  on  the  topic  which  had  occupied  him  all  day. 
They  had  now  taken  a  surer  trend.  One  doubtful  possi- 
bility was  done  away  with.  He  found  himself  left  with  two 
others,  less  dubious,  but,  had  he  the  wit  to  surmise  it,  pos- 
sibilities which  half  the  men  of  the  Court  were  quietly  plan- 
ning, even  as  he  himself,  to  make  their  own. 

De  Bernis  dined  at  the  Caf£  de  la  R6gence,  a  popular  and 
fashionable  resort ;  and  thereafter,  being  now  happily  inde- 
pendent of  the  Lazariste  and  all  such  houses,  betook  him- 
self to  his  rooms  in  the  Rue  des  Bailleuls,  not  a  great  way 
from  the  H6tel  de  Ville,  and  near  the  old  Louvre.  After 
adding,  here,  a  few  touches  to  his  toilet,  he  took  a  chair  to 
the  H6tel  de  Tours,  where  M.  de  Vauvenargues  held  his 
brilliant  salons. 

It  was  a  night  when  nothing  was  happening  at  Versailles. 
The  Queen,  satisfied  for  the  time  with  her  success  of  the 
previous  evening,  played  cavagnole  with  Renault,  and 
prepared  for  an  extra  hour  in  her  oratory.  His  Majesty 
had  claimed  de  Berryer  for  the  night,  and  gone  off  on  one 
of  those  strange  expeditions  in  which  he  occasionally  in- 
dulged. The  great  palace  thus  being  desolate,  all  the 
world  bethought  itself  of  Paris,  and,  in  the  same  instant, 
of  the  Hotel  de  Tours  and  its  host.  The  rooms  there  were 
crowded  by  the  time  de  Bernis  arrived.  Every  possible 
circle,  from  the  Court  to  the  philosophical,  was  in  evidence. 
In  the  first  room,  where  Monsieur  was  obliged  to  receive 
till  a  late  hour,  the  lesser  and  most  professional  lights  of 
society  mingled  in  a  heated  throng.  In  the  second  salon, 
connected  with  the  first  by  a  small,  yellow-hung  ante- 
chamber, the  gaming-tables  were  set,  around  which,  talk- 
ing or  at  play,  were  grouped  the  aristocratic  dwellers  of 
Versailles.  Among  these  was  Claude,  sunk  in  piquet,  and 
Deborah,  conducted  by  Mme.  de  Jarnac,  and  hence  claim- 
ing place  with  the  bluest-blooded  dames  of  the  day ;  which 
fact,  however,  incredible  as  it  seemed,  failed  to  make  her 
happy. 

While  the  crowded  and  uncomfortable  devotees  were 
circling  in  slow  masses  through  the  larger  apartments, 


Snuff- Boxes  335 

there  had  been  gradually  collecting,  in  the  yellow  ante- 
chamber, a  small  group  of  gentlemen  who,  as  it  happened, 
had  more  at  stake  than  gold.  The  tacit  subject  of  their  ap- 
parently superficial  conversation  was  the  decision  of  the 
next  ruler  of  Versailles  and  the  consequent  determination 
of  their  own  forthcoming  influence  in  Court  circles.  Here, 
foremost  of  all,  with  most  at  stake,  was  Richelieu — Riche- 
lieu in  violet  satin  and  silver,  with  pearls,  point  de  Bru- 
xelles,  and  snuff-box.  Next  to  him,  upon  a  tabouret,  appar- 
ently half  asleep,  indolent,  smiling,  was  de  G£vres,  with 
opposition  to  Richelieu  coursing  in  fiery  determination 
through  every  vein.  Yonder  sat  d'Epernon  and  Pen- 
thievre ;  while,  completing  the  group,  were  Holbach,  who 
had  left  Montesquieu  at  the  point  of  interaction  between 
body  and  soul,  and  Francois  de  Bernis,  swelling  with  van- 
ity at  being  seen  in  such  company.  All  about  this  impene- 
trable band,  during  their  conversation,  incomprehensible 
to  him  who  should  catch  but  a  syllable  or  two  of  it,  wan- 
dered men  and  women  of  various  degrees,  curious,  envious, 
anxious,  one  and  all  willing  to  have  given  half  a  fortune  to 
have  been  able  to  join  this  party,  which  represented  the 
dwellers  in  sacred,  nearest  places  to  royalty,  to  France's 
King.  Possibly  these  men  were  unconscious  of  their 
greatness.  Certainly  they  were  too  interested  in  them- 
selves and  their  plans  to  enjoy,  for  the  moment,  the  appar- 
ent adulation  of  outsiders.  It  was  like  a  meeting  of  the 
Council  of  Ten  held  in  the  middle  of  St.  Mark's  Square  of 
an  afternoon. 

Penthievre  had  finished  an  anecdote  of  the  far-off 
days  of  Gabrielle  d'Estr6es,  containing  a  clever  apo- 
logue, for  which  he  was  mentally  applauded  by  the 
group. 

"A  clever  woman!"  murmured  Richelieu,  dreamily. 
"  1  cannot  help  thinking  that  if  Sully  had  taken  her  part, 
instead  of  opposing  her— -" 

"Marie  de  M6dicis  would  have  made  less  difficulty." 

Richelieu  stared  at  de  Gevres,  who  had  interrupted  som- 
nolently, and  remarked,  with  some  insolence :  "  You  miss 


336         The  House   of  de  Mailly 

the  point,  I  think.  Her  Majesty  is  scarcely  included  in 
the  affair." 

"Noailles— Sully.  Marie  de  Medicis— Fate,"  was  the 
retort. 

Richelieu  shrugged.     "It  was  too  vague,  Jacques." 

"  Let  us  return  to  the  present.  We  shall  find  it  less  com- 
plicated/' suggested  Holbach,  quietly. 

The  others  acquiesced  with  alacrity.  Their  problem 
was  too  important  to  trust  to  forgotten  history  for  solu- 
tion. At  this  moment  Richelieu,  with  serious  intent,  took 
snuff,  raising  the  cover  of  his  box  in  so  significant  a  man- 
ner that  it  was  impossible  that  all  should  not  perceive  its 
miniature  to  have  been  removed,  leaving  the  tarnished  gold 
alone  visible  under  the  pearl-surrounded  glass. 

"Ah!"  murmured  d'Epernon,  "what  has  become  of  the 
Duchess?" 

"1  shall  present  the  picture,  as  a  mark  of  my  high  es- 
teem," said  Richelieu,  "to  M.  d'Agenois." 

There  was  a  general  smile.  Then  de  Ge"vres  remarked, 
slowly:  "1  will  purchase  that  miniature  of  you  for  my 
own  use,  du  Plessis." 

"What!     Have  you  not  one  of  her?"  cried  de  Bernis. 

De  G£vres  pulled  out  his  own  box  and  handed  it  to  the 
abbe.  In  it  was  an  exquisitely  painted  portrait  of  Marie 
Anne  de  Nesle,  done  just  before  she  was  created  Duchesse 
de  Chateauroux. 

"What,  then,  would  you  do  with  another?" 

"1  should  present  it,  in  a  few  weeks'  time,  to  the  King." 

"Diable!  You  are  not  stupid  enough  to  believe  that 
she  is  to  be  reinstated?" 

"1  am  sufficiently  stupid — to  believe  exactly  that." 

Richelieu  looked  seriously  annoyed.  For  a  long  time 
he  and  de  Ge"vres  had,  from  policy,  been  the  best  of  friends 
and  strong  allies.  They,  together,  one  summer  evening, 
on  the  terraces  of  Versailles,  had  first  presented  the  Mar- 
quise de  la  Tournelle  to  the  King.  And  since  then  they 
had  worked  constantly  on  her  behalf.  De  Ge'vres,  how- 
ever, having  been  the  more  moderate  of  the  two,  was  now 


Snuff- Boxes  337 

in  a  position  which  Richelieu  had  recklessly  forfeited — 
sure  of  favor  in  any  case. 

Baron  d'Holbach,  seeing  the  situation  a  little  uncom- 
fortable, broke  the  pause  by  producing  his  own  snuff- 
box and  displaying  its  cover.  "Messieurs/'  he  said, 
"  we  are  carrying  with  us  to-night  the  history  of  France. 
Behold!" 

All  leaned  forward  to  look  upon  the  delicately  painted 
features.  They  were  those  of  Pauline  Felicite  de  Vin- 
timille,  the  sister  and  predecessor  of  Mme.  de  Chateau- 
roux. 

"It  is  old-fashioned,  gentlemen,  but  I  have  always 
liked  the  face — so  young — so  gentle — so  sad  beneath  the 
smile,"  observed  the  philosopher. 

"1  can  complete  the  trio,"  said  Penthievre,  laughing, 
and  producing  another  round  lid.  "1  was  reminiscent 
to-night,  and  selected  this  from  my  collection." 

"  Parbleu !  it  is  entertaining,"  remarked  d'Epernon, 
while  the  others  were  silent,  thinking  a  little,  perhaps,  of 
days  not  long  past ;  for  the  third  miniature  was  of  Louise 
Julie  de  Nesle,  Comtesse  de  Mailly,  Claude's  cousin  and 
sister-in-law. 

"D'Epernon  and  de  Bernis,  let  us  see  yours.  Perhaps 
they  will  have  a  new  bearing  on  the  subject,  and  will  bring 
a  prophecy." 

D'Epernon  shook  his  head.  "My  top  is  merely  amber, 
without  decoration." 

"And  you,  Monsieur  l'Abb6?" 

De  Bernis  flushed.  "  Mine  is — personal,  gentlemen.  1 
shall  change  it." 

"Let  us  see  —  ah!  Mme.  de  Coigny.  Did  you  take  it 
from  Mailly-Nesle?" 

"No,  M.  de  Ge'vres.  Mme.  Victorine  was  so  good  as 
to  present  it,"  was  the  slightly  haughty  reply. 

"But  you  are  going  to  change  it,  you  know.  Tell  us, 
what  new  face  is  to  displace  this?" 

"I  will  tell  you,  M.  de  Richelieu,  when  you  have  con- 
fessed what  one  is  to  fill  your  empty  space." 
22 


338         The  House   of  de  Mailly 

"Ah,  yes — make  your  prophecy,  du  Plessis,"  drawled 
de  Ge"vres. 

"  Well  then,  if  you  will  know/'  Richelieu  lowered  his  tone, 
"  the  post  is  going  to  continue  for  a  fourth  turn  in  the  fami- 
ly de  Mailly.  Within  three  months  1  shall  place  here  the 
face  of — Count  Claude's  wife." 

"Ah!" 

"Really!" 

"The  colonial?" 

"Perhaps!" 

"And  now  you,  abbe?" 

"  1  differ  from  M.  de  Richelieu.  1  should  rather  suggest 
— the  lady  now  standing  behind  M.  d'Epernon." 

The  party  glanced  discreetly  about  to  behold  a  pretty 
woman  in  pink  brocade,  who  was  laughing  at  some  re- 
mark from  the  Abbe  Coyer. 

"What!     The  last  debutante?    Mme.  d'Etioles?" 

"Bah!  Pardon,  de  Bernis,  but  she  is  of  the  bour- 
geoisie." 

"  And  is  Mme.  de  Mailly  of  higher  birth?" 

There  was  a  moment  of  unexpected  silence.  Then 
Richelieu  said,  slowly:  "1  had  understood  that  she  was 
of  excellent  blood.  Six  generations,  it  has  been  said." 

Penthievre  and  d'Epernon  nodded  agreement.  Such, 
certainly,  had  been  the  rumor.  De  Bernis  looked  a  little 
nonplussed. 

"Then  Mme.  de  Mailly  is — your  choice?"  he  asked  of 
Richelieu. 

"Oh,"  the  Duke  shrugged,  "that  is  a  little  direct,  Mon- 
sieur 1'Abbe.  1  much  admire  Mme.  de  Mailly.  His  Maj- 
esty admires  her." 

"She  is  on  the  supper-list  for  Choisy,"  murmured  Pen- 
thievre. 

"Ah!     Where  did  you  hear  it?" 

"  From  young  d'Argenson.  The  King  was  pleased  with 
her  appearance  at  the  presentation." 

"And  it  was  not  by  his  arrangement,  either." 

"1  wonder,"  asked  d'Holbach,  musingly,  of  the  air, 


Snuff-Boxes  339 

"if  Claude  de  Mailly  will  let  her  go,  without  expostula- 
tion, to  one  of  the  Choisy  suppers." 

"It  is  doubtful/'  replied  de  Gevres,  yawning. 

Richelieu  said  nothing,  but  under  his  languid  exterior 
was  a  fierce  determination  that  Mme.  de  Mailly,  Claude 
or  no  Claude,  should  go  to  a  Choisy  supper,  and  the  first 
to  which  she  was  asked. 

"  And  now,  Monsieur  TAbbe,  what  attributes  for  the  post 
has  your  pretty  bourgeoise,  Mme.  d'E doles?"  inquired 
d'Epernon. 

Softly,  as  he  answered,  the  abbe  tapped  Victorine's  min- 
iature. "  One  attribute,  Monsieur  le  Due,  which  1  think 
that  Mme.  de  Mailly  lacks,  and  without  which  a  woman 
is — to  be  frank — useless.  Mme.  d'Etioles  has  ambition 
to  win  the  place." 

"You  know  that?  She  confesses  it?"  asked  Richelieu, 
leaning  suddenly  forward,  and  betraying  more  interest 
than,  considering  the  proximity  of  de  Gevres,  was  digni- 
fied. 

"Confessed  it?  Not  in  words.  There  was  but  her  eye, 
her  animation,  her  color,  the  quivering  of  the  nostril — an 
air  hard  to  describe,  easy  to  read,  which  you  all  know, 
messieurs." 

"But  yes!" 

"  And  she  has  the  tact  to  compliment  a  rival.  That  is 
excellent." 

"  True.  But  Mme.  de  Mailly  is  a  far  newer  type.  She 
is  young,  ingenue,  nai've;  would  not  understand  even 
that  compliments  were  required.  And  novelty,  gentle- 
men, novelty,  is  what  we  all,  not  less  than  his  Majesty, 
require." 

"That  is  true.  1  feel  it  necessary  at  this  moment. 
Supper  must  surely  have  been  announced  by  this  time. 
I  go  to  seek  'la  Poule',"*  observed  de  Ge"vres,  rising. 

"Is  Mme.  de  Flavacourt  here?"  whispered  d'Epernon  of 
Penthievre  as,  the  conference  over,  the  little  group  broke  up. 

*  Louis  XV. 's  nickname  for  Mme.  de  Flavacourt. 


34°        The  House   of  de   Mailly 

"Yes.  She  has  just  passed  into  the  other  room  with 
d'Henin." 

"Ge*vres  follows  her." 

"Of  course,  since  he  is  avowedly  for  la  Chateauroux." 

"And  Richelieu  approaches  the  little  American.  Be- 
hold, he  is  going  to  be  her  supper  companion." 

"  Now  it  is  only  left  for  the  abbe"  to  seek  Mme.  d'Etioles." 

"Dastard!  He  deserts  his  colors.  See,  he  is  coming 
with  Mme.  d'Egmont.  Coigny  not  being  here,  it  seems 
he  lays  siege  to  the  second  lady  of  that  family." 

"Hein?  It  is  very  warm  here.  Au  revoir.  I  am  going 
to  seek  the  Marquis  de  Mailly -Nesle — you  see,  I  am  on 
two  sides  so." 

Penthievre  disappeared  in  the  throng  which  had  begun 
to  move  more  rapidly  to  the  supper  apartment  in  the  rear. 
"It  now  behooves  me,"  murmured  d'Epernon  to  himself, 
"  to  take  pity  on  de  Bernis'  choice.  But  that  will  be  an 
effort.  No.  I  will  be  original.  1  will  go  in  alone.  1  will 
be  the  only  man  of  all  Versailles  to-night  who  has  no 
woman  in  his  brain  1" 


CHAPTER   VII 

Concerning    Monsieur    Maurepas 


OTW1THSTANDING  de  Richelieu's  confi- 
dence in  the  rising  of  the  new  de  Mailly  star 
in  the  Versailles  heavens,  and  Francois  de 
Bernis'  more  reserved  and  more  diffuse 
plans,  it  appeared,  after  all,  that  de  Gevres' 
stubborn  loyalty  to  the  old  favorite  was  not  misplaced.  To 
the  vast  chagrin  of  most  of  the  court,  and  the  strong  anx- 
iety of  a  small  portion  of  it,  his  Majesty,  attended  by  his 
private  suite  and  Jean  Frederic  Phelippeaux  de  Maurepas, 
went  from  Versailles  back  to  the  Tuileries  on  the  after- 
noon of  November  23d. 

M.  de  Maurepas  had  the  honor  of  driving  alone  with  the 
King.  The  roads  were  bad,  and  the  royal  coach  grievously 
heavy,  so  that  the  poor  minister  came  to  be  in  difficulties 
for  entertaining  conversation  towards  the  last  stages  of  the 
three-hour  journey.  Louis  listened  good-naturedly  to  his 
various  remarks,  but  at  length  took  occasion  to  switch 
the  topic  round  to  that  one  of  all  others  which  Maurepas 
had  been  trying  to  avoid. 

"'Tis  said,  Phelippeaux,"  observed  the  King,  blinking, 
"that  our  dear  friend  the  Duchesse  de  Chateauroux,  and 
you,  our  other  dear  friend,  are  not  amicably  disposed 
towards  one  another.  How  is  this?" 

"Sire,  believe  me — the — little  difficulty  began  through 
no  fault  of  mine,  if  through  the  fault  of  any  one." 

"Relate  it  to  me." 

Maurepas  coughed.  The  situation  was  undeniably  dis- 
agreeable, but  an  effort  must  be  made.  The  less  hesita- 
tion, at  all  events,  the  better.  "Your  Majesty,  it  had  to 


342        The  House  of  de   Mailly 

do  with  a  house,  the  H6tel  Maurepas,  which  three  years 
ago  was  the  Hotel  Mazarin,  but  fell  to  me  at  Mme.  de  Ma- 
zarin's  death,  thus  obliging  Mme.  de  la  Tournelle  to  leave 
it  on  the  demise  of  her  grandmother.  We  are  connected, 
you  know,  Sire." 

For  a  moment  or  two  the  King  remained  silent,  and  his 
companion  sat  dreading  an  outbreak  of  displeasure.  Pres- 
ently, however,  Louis  remarked,  without  much  expression : 
"  Since  her  leaving  the  Hdtel  de  Mazarin  was  the  occasion 
of  her  appearance  at  Versailles,  one  might  imagine  that 
madame  would  strive  to  modify  her  anger.  Is  that  all  the 
reason,  monsieur?" 

"  Latterly,  Sire,  it  has  been  intimated  to  me  that  madame 
thought  me  her  opponent — a — politically.  Need  1  assure 
your  Majesty  that  my  only  political  interest  is  yours,  and 
that  in  so  far  as  Mme.  de  Chateauroux  has  been  essential 
to  your  good  pleasure,  in  so  far  she  has  been  esteemed  by 
me.  Unfortunately,  however,  it  is  whispered  that  madame 
believes  me  the  instrument  of  her  departure  from  Metz. 
This,  indeed,  is  utterly  false,  1  as — " 

Louis,  who  was  looking  slightly  amused,  raised  his  hand : 
"  Enough,  Phelippeaux.  1  am  aware  of  some  things.  We 
shall  try,  during  the  forthcoming  week,  to  give  you  the 
opportunity  of  proving  to  madame  your  entire  innocence 
in  that  regrettable  affair.  1  wish  you  to  become  reconciled 
to  madame,  Phelippeaux,  for,  to  be  plain,  1  can  do  without 
neither  of  you." 

Maurepas  acknowledged  this  high  compliment  with  some 
little  pleasure;  but,  as  the  horses  hurried  forward,  and 
silence  fell  between  the  two,  the  Marquis  found  himself  at 
liberty  to  think  some  by  no  means  agreeable  thoughts. 
It  was  quite  true  that,  even  in  former  times,  when  there 
was  no  open  rupture  between  them,  love  had  never  been 
lost  between  the  King's  minister  and  the  favorite.  Mau- 
repas found  his  Court  path  very  much  smoother  when  the 
Duchess  was  not  moving  just  ahead  of  him,  and,  despite 
his  loyalty  to  the  King's  wishes,  he  had  small  desire  that 
the  King's  well-beloved  should  return  to  Versailles.  For 


Concerning  Monsieur  Maurepas  343 

that  reason  this  present  journey  to  the  Tuileries,  its  object 
now  becoming  perfectly  plain,  began  to  assume  a  decidedly 
unpleasant  appearance.  Maurepas  was  well  able  to  cope 
with  the  favorite  in  his  own  way;  but  his  way  was  not 
that  of  the  King.  How,  then,  was  he  to  gain  his  point, 
satisfy  himself,  and,  at  the  same  time,  please  that  difficult 
pair,  Marie  Anne  de  Mailly  and  Louis  de  Bourbon,  equally 
well,  as  he  needs  must? 

During  this  soliloquy  the  royal  coach  passed  the  barrier 
and  entered  the  dark  streets  of  the  city.  After  twenty 
minutes  of  silent  and  rapid  driving,  Louis  touched  his 
minister's  arm. 

"Look,  Phelippeaux,  there  is  the  very  house  towards 
which,  to-morrow,  1  take  my  way/' 

Whether  by  accident  or  by  order,  they  were  passing 
through  the  little  Rue  du  Bac  on  their  way  from  the  bridge 
to  the  palace.  Maurepas  obediently  leaned  out  of  the  win- 
dow and  gazed  up  at  the  narrow  house  now  inhabited  by  the 
most  celebrated  woman  in  France.  The  lower  story  of  the 
building  was  dark.  The  upper  one  was  lighted  brilliantly, 
in  front. 

"Possibly  she  is  ill,"  muttered  Maurepas,  under  his 
breath. 

And  Maurepas'  surmise  was  right.  La  Chateauroux 
was  ill.  A  long  and  fruitless  course  of  d'Agenois,  of  re- 
pining for  her  lost  position,  of  battling  for  herself,  single- 
handed,  against  the  drawn  ranks  of  the  dames  d' etiquette, 
with  but  a  momentary  glimpse  of  the  King  on  his  way  to 
mass  after  his  return,  with  the  news  of  the  beginning  of  the 
winter  fetes,  and,  finally,  more  than  all,  the  possibility 
that  she  had  been  effaced  from  Louis'  memory  by  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  rival — these  things  had  preyed  upon  her 
woman's  nature  till  they  threw  her  into  a  nervous  fever 
which  medicine  but  increased,  and  for  which  there  was 
but  one  remedy.  Sad  weeks,  indeed,  these  were.  Her 
brave  defiance  was  broken.  Day  after  day,  through  the 
long  gray  hours,  she  would  lie  in  her  bedroom,  silent,  im- 
patient, answering  sharply  if  spoken  to,  otherwise  mute, 


344        The  House   of  de  Mailly 

uncomplaining,  and  melancholy.  Young  d'Agenois  was 
with  her  constantly,  and  now  importuned  marriage  till  at 
times  she  was  near  consent.  What  frayed  strand  of  hope 
still  held  her  back  it  were  difficult  to  surmise.  How  had  it 
been  with  her  had  she  accepted  this  young  man's  eagerly 
proffered  self?  Had  the  tragedy  of  Versailles  been  doubled 
or  avoided?  Had  de  Bernis  or  Richelieu  won  his  wager? 
Useless  to  guess.  At  eleven  o'clock  on  this  night  of  the 
23d  of  November  young  d'Agenois  left  his  lady's  fauteuil, 
and  the  light  in  the  top  story  of  the  Rue  du  Bac  went  out 
for  a  little  time. 

At  twelve  o'clock  on  the  following  day,  while  madame 
was  meditating  another  struggle  with  the  clothes  that  so 
tortured  her  fevered  body,  Fouchelet,  down-stairs,  was 
called  to  the  door.  At  the  entrance  stood  a  muffled  man, 
bearing  in  his  hand  a  note — for  the  Duchesse  de  Chateau- 
roux.  Fouchelet  was  well  trained.  He  gave  no  sign,  but 
his  heart  grew  big,  for  his  own  position's  sake,  when  he 
recognized  the  sharp  features  of  Bachelier,  the  King's  con- 
fidential valet. 

"There  is  no  answer?"  queried  madame's  man,  peering 
out. 

"Yes/'  was  the  reply.  And  so  Bachelier  waited  in  the 
lower  hall. 

In  ten  minutes  the  lackey  returned.  Bachelier  rose. 
"Well?"  he  asked. 

"At  nine  o'clock  this  evening,"  was  the  message.  And 
with  it,  and  a  nod  of  satisfaction,  the  royal  servant  left  the 
house. 

He  left  much  behind  him  that  may  be  easily  enough 
imagined.  Enough  to  say  that  the  designated  evening 
hour  found  the  once  gloomy  little  hdtel  in  a  most  unwonted 
condition.  The  whole  lower  floor  was  lighted  softly,  with 
not  too  many  candles,  for  Mme.  de  Chateauroux's  face  bore 
the  ravages  of  anxiety  and  illness.  The  salon,  in  per- 
fect order,  was  empty.  Not  so  the  little  dining-room,  a 
charming  place,  with  elaborate  decorations  of  palest  mauve 
and  gold,  a  crystal  chandelier,  and  a  tiny  round  table  in  its 


Concerning  Monsieur  Maurepas   345 

centre,  heaped  with  a  profusion  of  flowers,  and  the  most  del- 
icate collation  that  Mme.  de  Flavacourt  and  the  chef  to- 
gether could  devise.  No  wines  had  been  brought  up,  for 
they  were  kept  cooler  below.  But  here,  upon  her  chaise- 
longue,  no  rouge  upon  her  flaming  cheeks  to-night,  hair 
elaborately  coiff ed  for  the  first  time  in  many  days,  swathed 
all  in  laces,  covered  with  a  piece  of  pale,  embroidered  satin, 
arms  and  hands  transparent  in  the  light,  her  whole  form 
more  delicate  than  ever  before,  reclined  Marie  Anne  de 
Mailly — waiting. 

Minutes  passed  and  the  hour  drew  near.  Madame 
moved  nervously,  her  hands  wandering  over  the  shad- 
owy garments.  The  whole  hidden  household  breathed 
uneasiness,  anticipation.  Clocks  chimed  nine.  The  hour 
was  past.  He  was  late — no !  Mme.  de  Chateauroux  sat 
up.  There  had  been  the  faintest  knock  at  the  door.  Fou- 
chelet  hurried  through  the  hall.  For  an  instant  the  Duch- 
ess tightly  clenched  her  hands.  Then  her  face  changed 
utterly  in  expression.  All  anxiety  and  eagerness  slipped 
away  from  it.  It  had  become  calm,  cool,  indifferent, 
showing  strong  marks  of  physical  suffering.  The  eyes 
burned  with  determination,  but  her  mouth  wore  a  peculiar, 
disdainful  smile  that  few  women,  in  her  place,  would  have 
dared  to  use. 

Now  a  black-cloaked  figure  hurried  through  the  salon, 
stopping  on  the  threshold  of  the  room  where  madame  lay. 
Here  the  protecting  hat  and  coat  were  rapidly  thrown 
aside,  and  the  new-comer  hastened  to  madame. 

"Anne!"  cried  the  King,  gazing  down  at  her  in  delight. 

The  cheeks  of  la  Chateauroux  grew  a  little  redder,  her 
eyes  a  little  more  brilliant.  "Your  Majesty  will  pardon 
me  that  1  do  not  rise?"  she  said. 

"Bachelier  told  me  of  your  illness.  I  am  sincerely 
sorry,"  he  returned,  examining  her  closely. 

"Will  your  Majesty  be  pleased  to  sit?" 

"'Majesty,'  Anne?  'Majesty?'  What  nonsense  is 
this?  Have  you  become  a  waiting-maid?  It  is  'Louis' 
when  we  are  together,  you  and  1." 


346         The  House   of  de  Mailly 

Madame  drew  away  a  little.  "You  wish  that?"  she 
asked,  looking  at  him  keenly. 

'  Tis  what  1  have  come  for.  Ah,  madame — Versailles 
is  empty  now!  I  have  been  bored — they  have  bored  me 
to  death."  He  turned  away  with  one  of  those  abrupt 
transitions  from  tenderness  to  fretfulness  which  were 
so  characteristic  of  him  as  a  king.  He  yawned  as  he 
drew  a  small  chair  up  to  his  Duchess,  and  seated  him- 
self heavily  thereon.  "I  wish  you  to  return  to  Ver- 
sailles," he  said,  with  an  air  of  putting  an  end  to  the 
matter. 

Mme.  de  Chateauroux  glanced  at  him  and  slightly 
shrugged  her  shoulders.  "That  will  not  be  so  easily 
arranged." 

"What!     You  do  not  wish  to  return?" 

"  Why  should  I?  Life  there  was  not  at  all  easy.  Many 
changes  would  be  necessary  before  1  should  consent  to 
live  again  inside  its  walls." 

"What  changes?  Do  you  want  larger  rooms?  More 
servants?  A  cabriolet  added  to  the  berline?  Your  cook 
was  always  very  good." 

"Ta!  Ta!  Ta!  Rooms !— coaches !  It  is  people  I 
mean,  Sire." 

"Oh!"  Louis'  face  grew  more  grave.  Madame  lay 
perfectly  still,  watching  him.  He  was  obliged,  after  a 
moment  or  two  of  painful  silence,  to  ask,  sulkily,  "  What 
people  do  you  want — dismissed?" 

"Your  Majesty  might  easily  surmise  that." 

"I?    How  am  I  to  surmise  your  rancors,  Anne?" 

"My  dismissal  from  Metz — " 

"It  was  against  my  wishes,  I  swear  to  you!"  he  put  in, 
hastily. 

"Then  your — repentance  for  scandal,"  she  murmured, 
quickly,  smiling  beneath  her  lids.  As  the  King  flushed 
she  was  wise  enough  to  waive  the  point.  "1  am  aware 
that  you  were  so — generous  as  to  wish  me  to  remain  there," 
she  observed.  "But  the  man  who  did  cause  my  depart- 
ure, my  dis — " 


Concerning  Monsieur  Maurepas   347 

"Was  Chartres,  madame.  I  am  unable  to  dismiss  a 
prince  of  the  blood  from  Versailles  even  for  you." 

"I  did  not  refer  to  Monseigneur.  It  is  Maurepas  that 
I  want  sent  off." 

"  Maurepas !  Mordi !  Do  you  fancy  he  had  anything 
to  do  with  it?" 

"  He  had  all  to  do  with  it.  He  hates  me,  that  man.  I 
vow  that  until  he  has  left  Versailles  I  will  not  show  my 
face  there  at  any  cost." 

Louis  grew  red  with  irritation.  "You  are  absolutely 
wrong,  Anne.  De  Maurepas  had  no  more  to  do  with  your 
going  than  I.  I  swear  it!" 

"Then  who  was  the  man  that  instigated  Monseigneur 
to  force  his  way  into  your  apartment?" 

The  King  hesitated.  Richelieu  was  a  great  favorite 
with  him.  Were  it  possible  he  would  have  kept  the  truth 
of  the  matter  from  madame.  If  it  were  not  possible — he 
sighed,  mentally — Richelieu  must  go.  He  could,  at  all 
events,  be  spared  better  than  Maurepas,  who  had  the  in- 
valuable ability  of  steering  the  water-logged  ship  of  state 
very  skilfully  between  the  oft-threatening  Scylla  of  debt 
and  Charybdis  of  over-taxation. 

Presently  Louis  rose  and  moved  over  to  the  table.  Here, 
after  looking  absently  about,  he  picked  up  an  egg  filled 
with  cream  (a  new  and  delicate  invention).  Taking  up 
a  knife,  he  struck  off  the  egg's  head.  This  was  a  favorite 
trick  of  his,  and  one  which  he  performed  with  unerring 
daintiness.  "Look,  Anne.  Had  it  been  Maurepas  who 
forced  our  consigne,  this  is  what  we  should  have  done 
to  him."  He  smilingly  held  up  the  end  of  the  shell  for 
her  to  see,  and  then,  putting  it  down,  began  to  eat  the 
cream. 

"I  had  not  heard  that  any  one  had  been  beheaded  of 
late.  I  thought  it  was  out  of  fashion,"  observed  madame, 
with  apparent  interest. 

"True  enough.  I'll  send  Maurepas  to  tell  you  about 
everything.  But,  look  you,  if  I  have  that  person — exiled, 
if  I  present  you  with  a  list  of  courtiers  for  you  to  do  as  you 


348        The  House  of  de  Mailly 

wish  with,  if  I  reinstate  you  mistress  of  Versailles,  will 
you  in  turn  grant  me  two  requests?" 

"Let  me  hear  them." 

"  You  must  see  no  more  of  d'Agenois — the  creature  whom 
I  once  exiled.  And  Ph61ippeaux  and  you  must  be  recon- 
ciled. I  will  not  have  quarrels  in  my  household.  Will  you 
agree  to  these  things?" 

He  looked  at  her  sharply,  and  she  returned  the  glance 
with  one  that  he  could  not  read.  "The  first — d'Agenois 
— pouf!  You  may  have  him.  He  wearies  me  inexpres- 
sibly," she  said,  after  a  pause.  "  But  Maurepas —  Besides, 
I  have  not  yet  signified  a  wish  to  return  to  Versailles.  A 
month  ago  I  wrote  to  Richelieu  that  I  never  should." 

"Really!     To  Richelieu!    And  what  was  his  reply?" 

"Nothing.     He  did  not  reply." 

"A  pity.     Well  then — you  refuse  to  come  back?" 

"No.  That  is,  I  would  not  refuse,  but  that — I  am  not 
fond  of  M.  de  Maurepas." 

She  had  carried  her  stubborn  insolence  too  far  at  last. 
The  King  frowned,  threw  away  his  egg,  and  marched 
steadily  over  to  where  he  had  thrown  his  hat  and  cloak. 
"  It  is  as  well.  I  gave  you  your  choice,  madame.  Maure- 
pas is  no  Comtesse  de  Mailly.  Neither  you  nor  any  woman 
can  drive  him  from  my  court." 

At  the  tone  of  Louis'  voice  madame 's  heart  had  suddenly 
ceased  to  beat.  She  saw  her  mistake.  Was  it  too  late? 
No.  On  the  threshold  of  the  doorway  the  King,  after  a 
hesitation  and  struggle  with  himself,  turned.  She  seized 
her  final  opportunity  without  a  pause.  Holding  out  her 
arms  with  exaggerated  feebleness,  she  said,  slowly: 

"Send  Phe'lippeaux  to  me  to-morrow.  He  shall  plead 
his  cause." 

And  thus  her  danger  must  have  ended,  and  Louis' 
point  have  been  satisfactorily  gained;  for  it  was  past 
midnight  when  France  left  the  Rue  du  Bac,  to  proceed 
by  chair  to  the  Tuileries.  "Maurepas  will  be  with  you 
at  noon ;  and  may  the  god  of  friendship  preside  at  the 
meeting!"  were  his  parting  words  to  the  Duchess,  who 


Concerning  Monsieur  Maurepas   349 

nodded  and  smiled  her  approval.  Then,  while  Fouchelet 
and  the  second  valet  cleared  the  remains  of  the  feast  from 
the  little,  disordered  table,  the  mistress  of  Versailles,  pale, 
burning  with  fever,  and  exhausted  with  fatigue,  every 
nerve  quivering  with  excitement  at  the  life  reopening  to 
her,  dragged  herself  to  her  bedroom,  where  Mme.  de  Lau- 
raguais  and  the  round-eyed  maid  awaited  her  arrival. 

On  Thursday  morning,  which  was  the  25th  of  No- 
vember, the  King  broke  fast  with  Maurepas  at  his  usual 
hour.  Louis  was  sleepy,  and  slightly,  very  slightly,  in- 
clined to  be  sharp  of  temper.  When  he  informed  his  com- 
panion of  the  impending  visit  for  that  day's  noon,  Maure- 
pas made  no  objection  in  words  or  manner.  Neverthe- 
less, he  was  intensely  displeased.  He  knew  very  well  his 
master's  ways,  and  he  realized  that  the  tone  in  which  he 
was  bidden  to  come  to  a  full  and  cordial  understanding  with 
her  Grace  was  not  to  be  disregarded.  Therefore,  at  five 
minutes  to  twelve,  with  official  punctuality,  M.  Jean  Fr6- 
deric  Phelippeaux,  Marquis  de  Maurepas,  carefully  but 
not  elaborately  garbed,  arrived  in  his  chair  at  the  hdtel 
in  the  Rue  du  Bac.  He  was  admitted  there  without  delay, 
and  Fouchelet 's  answer  to  the  suave  inquiry  for  Mme. 
de  Chateauroux  was: 

"Will  Monsieur  le  Marquis  do  madame  the  honor  to 
ascend  to  madame 's  bedroom?" 

The  Marquis,  very  much  put  out,  did  madame  that  honor. 

Mme.de  Chateauroux  was  dressed  and  lying  back  in  a 
deep  arm-chair.  To  accentuate  her  pallor  and  the  fever- 
flush,  she  wore  a  'neglige  of  red,  and  over  her  knees  was 
thrown  a  velvet  robe  of  the  same  color.  In  his  first 
glimpse  of  her  the  minister  noted  all  of  this,  and  distin- 
guished the  affectation  from  the  reality.  He  perceived 
his  disadvantage,  and  began  at  once  to  calculate  how  far 
he  might  try  her  strength  without  inducing  tears,  before 
which  he  was  as  helpless  as  any  man. 

"Monsieur,  I  am  charmed  to  behold  you  again." 

"  And  I,  madame,  am  desolated  to  find  you  not  perfectly 
well." 


35°        The  House   of  de  Mailly 

There  was  a  little  pause.  The  Marquis  anticipated 
being  asked  to  sit  down.  Madame  seemed  to  forget  this 
courtesy.  So,  to  his  chagrin,  Maurepas  continued  to 
stand,  concealing  his  awkwardness  and  his  ill-humor  as 
best  he  might.  At  least  the  Duchess  took  no  notice  of 
his  discomfort. 

"Madame,  his  Majesty  commanded  my  appearance 
before  you.  Doubtless  there  was  a  reason,  of  which, 
however,  1  am  entirely  ignorant.  There  was  a  hint  on 
the  King's  part  of  a  reconciliation  necessary  between  us. 
I  did  not  understand  the  use  of  the  word.  Have  we,  then, 
need  for  reconciliation?" 

He  spoke  with  a  smile  which  annoyed  madame,  not  for 
the  first  time.  "  Monsieur,  last  evening  his  Majesty  was 
here  to  request  my  return  to  Versailles,  and  the  resump- 
tion of  my  duties  as  lady  of  the  palace  of  the  Queen. 
This,  on  certain  conditions,  I  am  willing  to  do.  You 
will,  however,  readily  perceive  how  impossible  it  would 
be  for  me  to  return  while  at  Versailles  dwells  the  man  who 
brought  about  my  dismissal  from  Metz,  in  August.  Do 
you  not  agree  with  me?" 

"And  if  I  do?"  queried  Maurepas,  warily,  doubtful  of 
her  point. 

"If  you  do,  monsieur!  Will  you,  then,  exile  yourself 
on  my  arrival?" 

"Exile  myself?    Pardon  me,  I  do  not  understand  you." 

"  I  ask  you,  monsieur,  if  it  was  not  you  who  wrote  the 
letter  of  dismissal  from  Metz — that  one  delivered  to  me 
by  d'Argenson?" 

"Ah!  I  understand  now.  No,  madame,  I  can  freely 
say  that  I  had  nothing  to  do  with  your  dismissal  in  any 
way.  I  had  not  dreamed  that  I  was  suspected  of  it." 

Madame  lay  back,  knitting  her  brows.  The  man  before 
her  had  unquestionably  told  the  truth.  She  knew  that 
as  much  from  his  indifferent  manner  as  from  the  lack  of 
protestations  in  his  denial.  At  first  disappointed,  the  Duch- 
ess became,  after  a  moment's  reflection,  intensely  curious. 

"Who,  then,  was  it?"  she  cried,  at  last. 


Concerning  Monsieur  Maurepas    351 

A  smile  broadened  Maurepas'  lips.  His  eyebrows 
went  up,  and  his  shoulders  were  lifted  a  hair's-breadth. 
"Madame — how  should  I  know?" 

"  Ah,  peste  !  In  the  same  way  that  the  whole  court 
must  know!  Truly,  I  should  be  a  fool  to  go  back  to  Ver- 
sailles ignorant  of  the  name  of  him  who  had  sought  to 
ruin  me.  Every  one  would  be  laughing  behind  my  back. 
Monsieur  le  Marquis,  you  may  either  answer  my  ques- 
tion or  return  to  the  King  the  message  that  I  shall,  after 
all,  remain  here." 

"Madame — this  is  beyond  my  province.  I  am  quite 
innocent  of  evil  intent  towards  you.  What  others  have 
done  is  not  my  concern."  Maurepas  spoke  urgently. 
He  saw  himself  getting  into  such  difficulties  as  a  diplo- 
matic man  dreads  most. 

Madame  was  angry.  "You  have  heard  what  I  say. 
You  shall  abide  by  it.  Tell  me — or  go." 

Maurepas  sought  his  snuff-box  agitatedly,  and  took 
a  large  pinch.  On  one  side  stood  the  anger  of  the  King; 
on  the  other  the  life-enmity  of  a  man  who  had  before  climb- 
ed gallantly  out  of  deeper  difficulties  than  the  one  into 
which  the  reinstallation  of  madame  would  throw  him — 
Louis  Armand  du  Plessis,  grand-nephew  of  the  greatest 
cardinal.  And  now  was  he,  Maurepas,  reduced  to  trust- 
ing to  a  woman's  word?  Must  he  sue  for  that?  Twice 
he  paced  the  room  from  door  to  windows  and  back  again, 
saw  no  help  during  the  distance,  and  finally,  disgusted 
with  himself,  waived  lack  of  invitation,  drew  a  chair  to 
the  Duchess'  side,  and  sat  carefully  down. 

"Mme.  de  Chateauroux  —  listen.  1  am  unfortunately 
placed.  1  am  anxious  to  do  you  the  favor  you  ask;  and 
yet,  for  political  reasons,  1  am  unwilling  to  incur  the  dis- 
pleasure of  a  powerful  man  by  allowing  it  to  be  known 
that  it  was  I  who  informed  you  of  his  lack  of  devotion  to 
your  cause.  You  perceive  this?" 

The  Duchess  looked  thoughtful.  The  words  had  been 
crisply  spoken,  and  had  betrayed  none  of  Maurepas'  real 
discomfiture.  "Certainly,"  said  she. 


352        The  House   of  de  Mailly 

"Well,  then,  regretfully  but  necessarily,  I  must  impose 
certain  conditions  under  which,  only,  will  I  consent  to 
divulge  this  matter  to  you." 

"What  are  the  conditions?" 

"Ah!  They  are  neither  unreasonable  nor  difficult, 
madame.  As  soon  as  you  re-enter  Versailles  his  Majesty 
will  send  to  you — as  he  informed  me  himself — a  list  of 
the  courtiers'  names,  which  you  will  have  the  privilege  of 
revising.  Now,  madame,  if  you  will  give  me  your  word 
that  this  man  whose  identity  I  am  going  to  reveal  shall 
be  dismissed  from  Versailles  simply  by  means  of  that  list 
and  not  with  any  marked  indignity,  if  you  will  also  assure 
me  that  1  shall  never  be  mentioned  as  concerned  in  the 
affair  in  any  way,  then,  madame,  1  am  but  too  delighted  to 
enlighten  you." 

There  was  a  pause.  La  Chateauroux  considered. 
Maurepas,  his  undiplomatic  proposition  made,  philosoph- 
ically took  snuff.  Fortunately,  the  times  when  one  must 
place  confidence  in  a  woman  were  rare.  They —  His  in- 
cipient meditations  were,  however,  interrupted. 

"  Monsieur  le  Marquis — " 

"Madame!" 

"I  agree  to  your  conditions.     I  give  my  word." 

"You  have  reflected  well?" 

"1  have  reflected.     Quick!    The  man!" 

"Richelieu,  madame." 

"Oh!— Ah!— Why  did  I  not  see  it  before!" 

With  such  speed  did  madame  run  the  whole  gamut 
of  evidence :  the  last  morning  at  Metz ;  Richelieu's  absence 
from  the  rooms;  his  imperturbability  before  Chartres; 
her  letters  since  dismissal  scantily  answered,  and,  some 
of  them,  not  at  all ;  his  failure  to  visit  her  since  the  return ; 
and  then,  last  night,  Louis'  uneasiness  at  her  curiosity. 
Yes.  It  was  but  too  plain.  Richelieu,  King's  favorite, 
her  own  mentor,  had  turned  traitor  at  last. 

"Ah!  The  villain!  The  wretch!  The  traitor!  The 
imbecile!  Never  again  shall  he  see  me  at  Versailles! 
Monsieur,  will  you  pour  me  a  glass  of  water  there?" 


Concerning  Monsieur  Maurepas    353 

Upon  the  little  table  at  her  side  stood  a  high  pitcher  and 
a  small  silver  goblet.  Maurepas  hastened  to  comply 
with  the  request,  and,  as  he  handed  her  the  cup,  he  noted 
how  eagerly  she  drank,  how  bright  was  the  flush  on  her 
cheek,  how  transparent  the  hand  that  she  held  to  her  face ; 
and  then  the  rather  grim  question  came  to  him  whether, 
after  all,  Richelieu's  banishment  would  endure  very  long. 
But  the  thought  was  only  transitory.  After  all,  a  woman 
of  twenty-seven,  strong  of  body  and  stronger  of  spirit,  is 
not  carried  off  at  the  very  summit  of  her  career  by  an 
intermittent  fever.  Thus,  when  she  returned  the  empty 
cup  to  the  King's  minister,  and  their  glances  met  for 
a  second,  he  read  in  her  face  resolution  and  to  spare  to 
carry  her  through  much  more  than  such  a  sickness  as  her 
present  one. 

"Have  no  fear  of  me,  monsieur.  I  shall  not  betray 
you.  Will  you  accept  my  gratitude?" 

Maurepas  bowed  courteously.  "When  shall  we  at 
Versailles  have  the  opportunity  of  welcoming  you  and 
Mme.  de  Lauraguais  back  again?" 

The  Duchess  looked  quickly  up  with  a  nicker  of  amuse- 
ment in  her  eyes  at  his  elaborate  tone.  "1  do  not  know. 
I  am,  at  present,  as  you  may  perceive,  scarcely  able  to  be 
moved  so  far  or  to  enter  upon  my  week  of  duties  as  lady 
of  the  Queen,  even  should  I  reach  Versailles  safely.  I 
must  wait  here  till  1  am  stronger.  Till  that  time — M.  de 
Richelieu  may  relieve  the  King's  ennui.  Must  you  retire 
so  soon?" 

Maurepas  was  evidently  upon  the  point  of  departure. 
"My — the  affair  between  us  is  concluded,  is  it  not?  May 
1  take  to  his  Majesty  the  word  of  our  renewed  friendship?" 

Mme.  de  Chateauroux  held  out  her  hand,  and,  while 
the  minister  bent  over  to  kiss  it,  she  smiled  down  on  the 
powdered  head  with  a  look  in  her  eyes  that  he,  could  he 
have  seen  it,  would  have  considered  with  something  like 
apprehension.  "Our  friendship  is  ratified,  M.  de  Maure- 
pas. Au  revoir." 

"1  shall  be  the  first  to  welcome  you  at  Versailles." 
23 


354        The  House  of  de  Mailly 

"Thank  you.  With  Maurepas  for  one's  friend,  who 
could  dread  anything?" 

"You  flatter  me  too  much.     Au  revoir." 

So,  with  a  final  salute,  and  a  grim  smile  at  himself  for 
his  undeniable  defeat  at  a  woman's  hands,  Maurepas 
concluded  his  task,  and,  with  relief  at  his  heart,  crossed 
the  threshold  of  the  dwelling  of  the  favorite  of  France. 


CHAPTER  VIII 


Deep  Waters 

HE  King  and  his  companion  returned  to  Ver- 
sailles on  Friday,  as  quietly  as  they  had  left 
it  three  days  before;  and  it  was  probable 
that  most  of  the  court  was  unaware  that  his 
Majesty  had  been  invisible  for  any  but  usual 
reasons — exclusive  hunting,  and  intimate  suppers,  some- 
where, with  some  one.  The  little  circle  of  royal  compan- 
ions who  selected  what  details  of  gossip  might  cross  the 
threshold  of  the  Salle  du  Conseil  or  the  Petits  Cours  In- 
terieurs  into  the  (Eil-de-Bceuf  were  extremely  discreet. 
For  days  Rumor,  always  with  the  name  of  la  Chateauroux 
as  a  refrain  for  her  verses,  flapped  over  Paris  and  Ver- 
sailles, chanting  vigorously.  Keepers  of  journals,  d'Ar- 
genson  and  the  worthy  de  Luynes,  wrote  wildly,  contradict- 
ing one  day  all  that  had  been  said  on  the  day  before,  and 
which,  in  turn,  would  be  falsified  to-morrow.  Was  Madame 
la  Duchesse  really  to  be  reinstated,  or,  like  her  sister  prede- 
cessor, to  be  kept  on  there  in  Paris  in  sackcloth  and  regret 
ever  after  ?  This  question  no  one  definitely  answered.  Mme. 
d'Etioles,  now  and  then  in  the  palace,  more  often  away 
under  the  close  surveillance  of  her  husband,  trembled  be- 
tween anticipation  and  despair.  There  was  another  at 
court  in  much  the  same  way.  This  was  Richelieu,  who, 
for  the  first  time  since  his  d£but,  living  as  he  did  at  the  very 
door  of  the  kingdom's  adytum,  was  still  outside  the  pale  of 
knowledge.  Daily  he  scanned  the  face  of  Maurepas,  a 
suavely  blank  space,  which  hinted  tantalizingly  at  how 
much  lay  behind  it.  The  King's  demeanor  was  no  less 
incomprehensible.  He  was  generally  sulky;  seemed  to 


356        The    House   of   de   Mailly 

have  settled  down  into  a  routine ;  attended  four  war  coun- 
cils and  two  of  finance,  to  Machault's  terror,  in  one  week ; 
ate  little;  drank  much;  was  seen  often  in  unofficial  but 
very  private  conference  with  Maurepas ;  and  now  and  then 
treated  Richelieu  with  such  open  and  kindly  affection  that 
fainting  hope  revived  in  the  Duke's  heart,  and  he  ceased 
numbering  days. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  la  Chateauroux  continued  to  be  ill ; 
for  a  king's  favor  will  not  banish  malaria  in  one  day.  Mme. 
de  Lauraguais  was  growing  intensely  anxious  to  be  safe 
at  Versailles  again.  The  Duchess,  curiously  enough,  was 
infinitely  less  impatient.  Perhaps  she  knew  too  well  what 
Versailles  meant  to  experience  unmixed  joy  at  the  pros- 
pect of  the  return.  Not  till  physical  strength  was  hers 
again  did  she  care  to  go  into  the  inevitable  maze  of 
intrigue,  enmity,  and  deceit  which  one  entered  by  the  door 
to  the  little  apartments.  Dr.  Quesnay,  of  M6re,  a  friend 
of  Mme.  d'Etioles,  none  the  less  a  good  physician  and  a 
bluffly  honest  man,  attended  her  in  Paris  assiduously. 
Under  his  care  the  favorite  certainly  improved,  day  by  day, 
till,  on  the  4th  of  the  last  month  of  the  year,  four  mes- 
sages flew  over  the  road,  two  from  Paris  to  Versailles,  and 
two  from  the  palace  there  to  the  Rue  du  Bac.  And  that 
night  the  King  did  not  sleep,  but  was,  nevertheless,  late  to 
mass  on  the  morning  of  the  fifth,  when  a  new  day  and  a  new 
era  dawned  for  the  (Eil-de-Bo2uf  and  for  the  history  of 
France. 

The  5th  of  December  fell  on  Sunday,  and  proved  a  day 
dull  enough  for  all  the  court.  For  once  their  Majesties 
dined  together  in  the  Salle  du  Grand  Couvert,  as  Louis  XIV. 
would  have  had  them  do.  But  the  King  did  not  appear  at 
his  consort's  salon  in  the  evening.  He  merely  informed 
her  that  it  was  his  pleasure  that  she  should  hold  a  special 
reception  two  nights  later,  on  the  evening  of  the  7th, 
at  which  he  would  be  present;  why,  he  did  not  explain. 
Though  it  would  be  the  evening  before  the  Feast  of  the  Con- 
ception, and  therefore  a  time  for  extra  devotions,  Marie 
Leczinska  gratefully  acceded  to  her  husband's  request, 


Deep  Waters  357 

delighted  at  anything  which  should  bring  him  into  her 
rooms.  In  the  evening  Louis  supped  in  the  small  apart- 
ments with  a  select  company  of  privileged  gentlemen,  his 
pages  of  the  Court,  Maurepas,  and  d'Argenson. 

"  It  is  a  feast  of  nine,  my  friends — the  old  Roman  num- 
ber. Let  us,  then,  be  classic  in  our  drinking  and  our  con- 
versation," observed  his  Majesty,  with  unusual  loquacity. 

"  And  is  it  to  gods  or  goddesses  that  we  chant  our  praises, 
Sire?  Do  we  look  to  Olympus  or — Cythera?"  demanded 
Maurepas,  slyly. 

The  King  did  not  at  once  reply.  Finally,  with  a  smile  pe- 
culiar to  himself,  he  glanced  at  his  favorite.  "You  shall 
choose  the  toast,  du  Plessis.  Jove  or  Venus?" 

Richelieu,  ignorant  of  a  cause,  was  at  a  loss  to  read  the 
subtlety.  "  Venus,  Sire,"  he  replied,  raising  a  glass  to  the 
candle-light  before  he  drank. 

"  Merely  the  goddess  in  abstract?"  murmured  de  Sauvr6. 
"  Surely  her  present  living  counterpart  were  better  worthy 
the  wine." 

"  Sire,  will  you  not  christen  the  toast?" 

"Is  it  necessary?  There  is  but  one."  The  King  neg- 
ligently lifted  his  glass,  while  only  de  Coigny  of  all  the 
tableful  breathed  normally.  "Marie  Leczinska,  your 
Queen,  gentlemen!" 

Each  face  fell  slightly.  Glasses  were  emptied  without 
a  word,  and  the  silence  continued  as  the  dishes  of  the  first 
course  were  passed. 

"These  birds  are  very  fine,  but  there  is  no  venison,"  re- 
marked Louis,  helping  himself  to  his  favorite  fillet  of  par- 
tridge. 

"The  last  hunt  was  four  days  ago,"  observed  Pen- 
thi£vre. 

The  King  looked  quickly  up.  "  Quite  true.  The  coun- 
cils have  demanded  me.  But  1  am  arranging  a  hunt — a 
large  hunt.  What  meetings  to-morrow,  d'Argenson?" 

"  An  important  one,  Sire,  at  which  M.  Machault  reads  a 
report  of  the  taxes  of  the  Navarraise  clergy  during  the  last 
quarter — " 


358         The  House   of  de  Mailly 

"  Ah,  yes.  You  and  Machault  are  diligent  enough  there. 
But  the  day  after — the  yth?  1  do  not  wish  to  be  at  coun- 
cil on  that  day." 

"There  will  be  none,  Sire/'  responded  the  young  man, 
obediently,  the  interest  dying  out  of  his  eyes ;  and  Maure- 
pas,  with  some  amusement,  watched  him  begin  to  crumble 
his  bread. 

"That  is  very  well.  On  Tuesday,  gentlemen,  we  will 
follow  the  hounds  through  Senart,  retire  to  Choisy  in  the 
afternoon,  and  return  to  Versailles  in  time  for  her  Majesty's 
salon  in  the  evening.  At  Choisy,  gentlemen,  1  shall  my- 
self prepare  a  dish,  an  especial  one,  which  Mouthier*  has 
created  for  me,  and  in  the  making  of  which  the  greatest 
delicacy  is  necessary.  It  is  to  be  a  vol-au-vent  royal,  a  la 
— the  last  of  the  name  is  not  important.  It  will  be  a  triumph 
of  art." 

"  Shall  you  prepare  it  for  the  company,  or — for  one  per- 
son, Sire?"  queried  de  Gevres. 

"There  will  be  more  for  the  party.  This  one — is — par- 
ticular." 

"  For  her  Majesty,  without  doubt,"  murmured  d'Epernon, 
smiling. 

Maurepas  and  the  King  exchanged  glances,  and  Riche- 
lieu, intercepting  the  look,  started  suddenly,  not  recovering 
his  poise  till  de  G£ vres  had  read  into  his  mind. 

"Sire,  this  one  person  whom  you  so  honor  returns  in 
the  party  to  Versailles — is  it  not  so?"  asked  de  Sauvr6, 
bravely. 

"Naturally  her  Majesty  returns  to  Versailles." 

"She  holds  a  salon  that  evening,"  muttered  de  GeVres 
to  de  Coigny,  who  sat  next  him. 

"  Who? — The  Queen?"  whispered  the  marshal  in  his  turn. 

"1  don't  know.  We  are  not  really  speaking  of  the 
Queen?" 

"D'Argenson,  you  hold  the  supper -list  for  Choisy.  1 
— a — would  speak  with  you  about  invitations  later  this 

*  Louisv  favorite  chef. 


Deep   Waters  359 

evening.  You  will  be  in  the  Salle  des  Pendules  at  an  early 
hour." 

D'Argenson  bowed. 

The  supper -list?  Deborah  was  upon  that.  Richelieu 
breathed  deeply.  Was  he  wrong  in  his  fears?  And  yet, 
was  it  possible  that  this  secrecy  should  be  used  in  the 
installation  of  a  new  favorite?  Certainly  none  at  that 
table  except  Maurepas  was  any  more  enlightened  concern- 
ing this  affair  than  he  was  himself.  He  scanned  the 
faces  around  him.  De  Sauvre"  and  Coigny  were  uncon- 
cerned. Veiled  curiosity  was  perceptible  in  the  eyes  of 
d'Epernon  and  Penthievre.  D'Argenson,  like  a  very 
young  diplomat,  appeared  reflective,  and  inclined  to  con- 
jecture by  analysis  the  real  object  of  his  forthcoming 
interview  with  the  King.  And  de  Ge"vres,  whose  face 
was  invariably  set  in  an  expression  of  bored  indiffer- 
ence, had  now  something  in  the  line  of  mouth  and  eyes 
that  gave  his  countenance  a  suggestion  of  alertness  and 
satisfaction.  Richelieu  concluded  his  scrutiny  with  even 
less  hope  than  he  had  begun  it.  However,  since  the  table 
were  eating  with  good  appetite,  he  made  shift  to  follow, 
and  forget  himself  as  far  as  might  be  in  a  well-seasoned 
ragout  of  pigeon. 

"  Vol-au-vent  is  certainly  a  charming  dish  1"  cried  Louis, 
presently,  harking  back  to  his  favorite  pursuit. 

"And  of  what  is  it  made,  Sire?    Is  it — sweet?" 

"Ah,  Sauvr6,  that  is  a  secret.  You  shall  learn  it  on 
Tuesday.  Bring  an  appetite  with  you  from  the  hunt. 
Perhaps  you  may  even  assist  in  its  manufacture.  I  told 
Mouthier  that  I  would  have  no  cooks  meddle  with  my 
dish,  but  that  my  good  friends  would  assist  me  in  the 
kitchen." 

"We  are  honored,"  came  the  little  chorus. 

Louis  inclined  his  head. 

"  Your  Majesty  has — a — been  making  candies,  of  late," 
observed  d'Epernon,  with  intended  malice. 

The  King  coughed.  "  A  few — chocolates.  I  have  been 
experimenting  with  a  new  fondant.  It  is  delightful," 


360         The  House    of  de  Mailly 

"Who  gets  them? — the  de  Mailly?"  whispered  de 
Sauvr6  to  Richelieu. 

The  Duke  shook  his  head  helplessly.  "I  have  never 
seen  any  there.  I  do  not  think  that  it  is  she."  Again 
he  looked  round  the  circle,  and  again  was  Maurepas' 
the  only  intelligent  face  present.  Richelieu  bit  his  lip 
in  anger;  but,  as  the  second  course  and  much  wine  now 
made  its  appearance,  the  conversation  turned  to  less  am- 
biguous topics,  and  the  drinking,  with  all  its  conviviality, 
began.  Many  were  the  ladies  to  whom  Louis  deigned 
to  raise  his  glass,  the  Countess  de  Mailly  being  among 
the  first  of  them.  And  when,  an  hour  later,  the  nine 
gentlemen  rose  from  the  table,  the  cares  and  fears  .of  all 
of  them  were  lighter.  After  a  bottle  of  old  Tokay,  a  tender 
partridge,  and  a  successful  epigram,  who  would  not  rise 
above  a  dread  of  the  intrigues  of  a  fickle,  unhappy  King, 
whose  best  hours  were  spent  with  men,  and  to  whom,  at 
such  times,  women  seemed  unimportant  enough? 

On  being  dismissed  from  their  liege,  several  of  the 
gentlemen  departed  towards  the  salon  of  the  Queen,  to 
join  the  promenade  and  see  the  newly  presented  ladies. 
One  or  two  left  the  palace  for  appointments  in  the  town. 
Richelieu,  out  of  spirits,  and  glad  to  be  alone,  went  off 
to  the  King's  bedroom,  where,  as  first  gentleman  of  the 
chamber,  he  ousted  Bachelier,  and  himself  prepared  the 
room  for  the  grand  couche.  Next  to  this  bedroom,  towards 
the  front  of  the  palace,  its  windows  opening  upon  the 
little  Court  of  Marbles,  was  the  Salle  des  Pendules.  Here, 
after  the  supper,  according  to  his  Majesty's  command, 
came  young  d'Argenson,  with  the  list  of  courtiers  eligible 
for  Choisy  suppers  in  his  pocket.  The  King  did  not 
keep  his  youthful  minister  waiting.  After  a  few  smiling 
words  with  Maurepas,  who  was  now  blessing  Fate  for 
that  past  interview  and  "reconciliation"  in  November, 
Louis  hurried  from  the  Salle  des  Croisades  up  the  corridor, 
into  the  Salle  du  Jeu,  and  so  to  that  of  the  clocks. 

"Ah!  You  await  me,  monsieur.  Your  promptness  is 
gratifying." 


Deep   Waters  361 

D'Argenson  made  obeisance. 

The  King  passed  across  to  the  window,  and  stood  with 
his  hand  on  the  sill,  looking  out  across  the  court  at  the 
lights  in  the  opposite  rooms.  "D'Argenson,  have  you, 
beside  the  Choisy  list,  one  of  the  entire  Court  and  all  the 
families  here  represented?" 

"  There  is  such  a  list,  Sire,  but  it  is  in  the  keeping  of  M. 
de  Berryer.  At  your  command,  I  will  obtain  it  from  him." 

The  King  hesitated,  seemed  to  reflect  for  a  moment, 
and  then,  with  his  eyes  still  fixed  outside  the  room, 
answered:  "Yes,  that  were  as  well.  De  Berryer  is  in 
Paris,  I  believe.  And,  well,  Monsieur  le  Comte — "  the 
King  turned  and  faced  him — "I  have  a  mission  for  you 
to-morrow." 

D'Argenson  bowed. 

"  You  will  leave  for  Paris,  at  an  hour  as  early  as  you 
find  convenient.  Arrived  at  the  city,  go  at  once  to  the 
Prefecture,  obtain  the  written  list  of  the  Court  from  de 
Berryer — 1  will  send  you  an  order  to-night — and  proceed 
with  that  to  the  Rue  du  Bac,  num6ro  — ." 

In  the  candle-light  young  d'Argenson  started  violently. 

His  Majesty  smiled.  "Yes.  You  will  find  there  Mme. 
de  Chateauroux ;  and  to  her  you  will  present  the  list.  She 
will  be  so  gracious  as  to  read  it  through  and  to  strike  from 
it  the  names  of  those  who  have  not  the  happiness  to  please 
her.  In  the  afternoon  you  will  return  to  me  with  the 
revised  list,  which — um  —  I  shall  put  into  execution  on 
Wednesday,  probably.  That  is  all,  monsieur.  I  wish  you 
good-evening. " 

The  Count  was  about  to  leave  the  apartment,  when 
the  King  himself  turned  upon  his  red  heel  and  abruptly 
left  the  room.  D'Argenson,  with  a  new  horizon  to  his  world, 
moved  weakly  to  the  side  of  the  room,  and  sank  upon  a 
tabouret  just  as  the  door  opposite  to  him  swung  open, 
and  Richelieu,  his  task  completed,  appeared  from  the 
King's  bedroom. 

"Hola,  Marc!  What  is  the  matter?  You  need  rouge," 
he  said,  wearily. 


362         The  House  of  de  Mailly 

"I  should  prefer  a  glass  of  Berkley's  English  gin/' 
responded  the  Count,  without  animation. 

"What  is  it?    You  have  seen  his  Majesty?" 

"Yes." 

"Well— your  news?" 

D'Argenson  looked  about  him  nervously.  Then,  ris- 
ing, he  moved  over  and  spoke  in  Richelieu's  ear.  "The 
new  dish — vol-au-vent — is  to  be  a  la  Chateauroux.  To- 
morrow she  revises  the  Court  list." 

"  Mon  Dieu ! "  Richelieu  whispered  the  exclamation,  and 
raised  one  of  his  slender  hands  to  his  forehead.  "  What 
to  do?  You — you  also  are  in  dread,  Marc?" 

D'Argenson  shrugged,  with  a  pitiful  attempt  at  indif- 
ference. "I  carried  her  the  message  of  dismissal  from 
Metz." 

"Ah!"  Richelieu  hesitated  for  a  second.  Then  he 
said,  softly :  "  When  will  the  revisal  of  the  list  be  carried 
into  effect  at  Court?  Do  you  know?" 

"On  Wednesday." 

"There  is,  then,  a  day — of  grace." 

"One.  The  King  hunts.  We  shall  all  be  at  Choisy. 
Madame  joins  us  there,  you  know,  and  returns  with  us — 
for  the  salon  of  the  Queen." 

"Naturally." 

"What  shall  you  do?    Resign  your  post  now?" 

Richelieu  was  silent,  and  his  face  looked  drawn.  This 
sensation  of  helplessness  was  very  new  to  him.  He 
seemed  to  hesitate.  Then,  after  a  few  moments  he  said, 
slowly :  "  No,  I  shall  wait.  One  thing — will  you  do  me  a 
favor?" 

"What  is  that?  There  are  few  enough  in  my  power 
now." 

"To-morrow  evening,  when  you  return  from  Paris, 
show  me  the  list." 

"Monsieur,  I  cannot  seek  you.  If  we  should  meet — 
by  chance — " 

Richelieu  bowed.  "Certainly.  It  is  all  I  ask.  If  we 
should  meet  by  chance." 


Deep  Waters  363 

"  In  that  case,  I  will  do  so.    At  any  rate,  I  will — tell  you. " 

"My  thanks  are  yours." 

Both  bowed.  Thereupon  d'Argenson  would  have  turned 
away,  but  Richelieu  suddenly  held  out  his  right  hand. 
"It  is  no  ordinary  affair,"  he  said. 

The  young  Count  frankly  accepted  the  offer.  Their 
hands  clasped  firmly  for  an  instant,  and  the  moment  of 
brotherhood  did  both  good. 

"Do  you  go,  now,  to  the  salon  of  her  Majesty?" 

"  I  had  thought  not,  to  -  night ;  but  I  have  changed  my 
mind." 

"I  will  come  with  you." 

"And  to-morrow  morning,"  added  the  Duke,  as  they 
left  the  room  together — "  to-morrow  morning,  after  mass, 
I  shall  go  to  the  (Eil-de-Boeuf  and  remain  there  till  you 
return  in  the  evening." 

"  Why  do  that?     You  will  gain  nothing  there." 

"1  shall  gain  atmosphere.  It  reeks  of  the  Court,  as  a 
chandler  reeks  of  tallow.  1  shall  like — to  take  it  away  with 
me." 

D'Argenson  smiled  faintly;  and  then  in  silence  they 
passed  into  the  Queen's  antechamber. 

Marie  Leczinska's  salon  was  not  so  brilliant  as  the  one 
of  two  weeks  before.  It  was,  however,  sufficiently  filled 
to  put  one  in  proper  mood,  without  danger  of  ruining  hoops ; 
which,  after  all,  was  a  slight  relief.  Both  Claude  and 
Deborah  were  here  to-night,  never  together,  but  also  never 
very  far  apart.  Mme.  de  Mailly  had  become  one  of  the 
most-sought-after  persons  in  the  Court,  and  her  husband, 
while  he  conformed  always  to  the  conventions  by  not  ap- 
proaching her  in  public,  was,  nevertheless,  aware  of  every 
person  who  spoke  to  her  of  an  evening,  heard  every  com- 
pliment paid  her  by  men,  and  a  good  many  of  the  enviously 
malicious  speeches  that  were  beginning  to  be  made  about 
her  by  the  women.  To-night  Richelieu,  on  entering  the 
salon,  made  his  way  at  once  to  Deborah's  side.  She  had 
been  speaking  with  the  Marquis  de  Tesse,  while  the  Prince 
de  Soubise  hovered  near,  thinking  up  a  suitable  gal- 


364         The  House   of  de  Mailly 

lantry  with  which  to  pounce  upon  her.  Richelieu  adroitly 
forestalled  him,  however,  and  reached  her  first,  well  pleased 
at  being  able  to  do  so.  The  Duke  was  moving  at  random, 
for  he  had  found  no  plan  of  possible  salvation  yet.  There 
only  lay  in  his  mind  a  dim  notion  that,  if  safety  should  be 
his  at  the  eleventh  hour,  it  would  come  to  him  through 
this  same  Deborah.  The  idea  was  surely  instinctive,  for 
it  had  small  reason  in  it.  What  could  a  little  colonial, 
what  could  any  woman — the  poor,  pale  Queen  herself — do 
against  Claude's  cousin,  the  reinstated  favorite,  the  great 
Duchesse  de  Chateauroux,  and  that  gently  spoken,  inflex- 
ible, indomitable  "Je  le  veux"  which  Louis  of  France  had 
used?  True,  Deborah  had  become  a  de  Mailly,  had  been 
much  noticed  by  the  King,  and  was  talked  of  in  peculiar 
whispers  by  all  the  Court.  Nevertheless,  what  so  pre- 
carious as  her  position?  What  favors  might  she  ask? 
None.  And  yet,  here  was  falling  Richelieu  hurrying  to 
no  Maurepas,  no  Machault,  or  Berryer,  or  any  powered 
man,  but  to  the  side  of  her  who  had  been  born,  eighteen 
years  before,  in  a  wide-roofed  Virginia  farm-house. 

"  Madame,  do  you  go  to  the  Ope'ra  to-morrow  night?"  he 
asked,  idly. 

"  I  do  not  know,  Monsieur  le  Due.     What  is  it  to  be?" 

"'JephteY  I  have  heard — Montclair,  you  know.  P6- 
lissier  and  Theve'nard  are  to  sing,  and  the  ballet  in  that 
piece  is  delightful.  Salle  and  Nicolet  will  lead  it." 

"  Oh,  I  should  like  to  go !  I  have  seen  Mile.  Sall6 — last 
week.  And  Mme.  Pelissier  also.  She  has  such  a  voice!" 

"  Will  you,  then,  you  and  monsieur,  do  me  the  honor  to 
occupy  my  box?  We  will  have  Mme.  de  Coigny  and  the 
abbe—"  ' 

"Oh  no!  Please — "  Deborah  began,  impulsively,  but, 
realizing  what  she  was  doing,  stopped  short  in  embarrass- 
ment. 

"  Pardon  me,  I  did  not  know  that  you  and  the  little  Vic- 
torine  were — uncongenial.  Whom  shall  I  ask?" 

"  Any  one — any  one,  of  course.  Mme.  de  Coigny,  by  all 
means,  monsieur." 


Deep   Waters  365 

Richelieu  looked  at  her  curiously,  and  might  have  spoken 
his  thought  had  not  Claude  at  that  moment  moved  some- 
what closer  to  them,  and  the  Duke,  therefore,  turned  to  him. 
"1  am  just  praying  Madame  la  Comtesse  to  arrange  a 
party  for  me  for  the  Opera  to-morrow  evening.  Will  you  not 
join  us?" 

"  Thank  you,  I  am  engaged  to  St.  Severin  for  a  supper 
and  the  Frangais.  Madame,  if  she  has  no  other  engage- 
ment, will  be  delighted  to  accept  your  kindness,  I  do  not 
doubt,"  returned  Claude,  pleasantly. 

Deborah  turned  a  half-wistful  glance  towards  her  hus- 
band, but  was  met  with  a  gentle  smile  of  refusal  that  sud- 
denly changed  her  manner. 

"  Monsieur  le  Due,  1  shall  be  but  too  happy  to  accompany 
you,  if  you  will  arrange  the  party.  1  do  not  think  that  I 
know — quite  how." 

Richelieu  bowed  his  thanks,  and  looked  long  into  her 
honest  gray  eyes.  "1  will  call  for  you  in  my  coach  at 
seven,  madame,  if  you  will  permit.  1  bid  you — au  revoir." 
With  a  bow  such  as  he  would  have  given  to  a  superior  in 
rank,  he  moved  away,  making  room  for  M.  de  Soubise,  who 
had  settled  upon  his  compliment,  and  was  itching  to  have 
it  out  before  it  should  lose  flavor  with  silent  rehearsal. 

Richelieu  did  not  remain  much  longer  in  the  room. 
Towards  the  end  of  the  promenade  his  Majesty,  his  dog 
Charlotte  under  one  arm,  unexpectedly  made  his  appear- 
ance, negligent  in  manner,  intent,  as  it  seemed,  on  speaking 
with  Deborah.  Richelieu  saw  the  King  with  a  new  feeling. 
It  was  the  first  time  that  he  had  ever  thought  of  Louis  as 
holding  interests  foreign  to  his  own.  Hitherto  they  had 
been  allies  in  every  council,  in  every  amusement.  Now, 
at  last,  in  desire  and  intention,  they  were  separated,  and 
it  was  a  woman  who  stood  between  them.  Richelieu  shook 
himself.  His  thoughts  were  becoming  bitter.  Cutting 
short  an  exchange  of  graces  with  Mme.  de  Mirepoix,  he 
left  the  rooms,  and,  informing  the  grand  chamberlain  that 
he  would  be  unable  to  assist  at  the  royal  couche  that  even- 
ing, sought  his  own  apartment,  and  was  put  to  bed  by  his 


366        The  House   of  de  Mailly 

valet,  not  to  sleep,  but  to  plan,  to  twist,  to  turn,  and  still, 
with  a  new,  unconquerable  dread,  to  anticipate  the  morrow. 

Morning  came  late.  Richelieu,  in  fact,  rose  with  the 
dawn,  for  the  King  was  always  roused  at  eight,  and  it  was 
the  duty  of  the  first  gentleman,  since  he  had  been  ab- 
sent on  the  previous  evening,  to  bring  water  in  which  his 
Majesty  should  wash,  and  to  put  the  royal  dressing-gown 
about  the  royal  shoulders.  Louis  was  in  a  quizzical  mood, 
and  tried,  rather  unkindly,  to  play  with  the  feelings  of  his 
favorite  courtier.  Richelieu's  sang-froid  was  imperturbable, 
however.  He  was  now  bound  in  honor  to  his  own  code  to 
exhibit  no  trace  of  the  feeling  which,  last  night,  he  had 
almost  been  guilty  of  betraying,  through  nervous  uncer- 
tainty. 

The  King  dressed,  he  completed  his  prayers,  despatched 
the  early  entries,  and,  when  he  was  finally  installed  with 
his  chocolate  and  eggs  in  the  council-hall,  where  the  matter 
of  the  Navarraise  taxes  was  later  to  be  taken  up,  Richelieu 
himself  partook  of  a  light  breakfast,  and  then  made  a  dig- 
nified progress  towards  the  room  of  rooms — the  CEil-de-Boeuf 
— where,  possibly,  his  fate  might,  by  accident,  be  already 
known.  On  his  way  through  the  halls  of  the  gods  and  the 
grand  gallery,  he  met  not  a  few  with  the  same  destination 
in  mind.  Certainly  none  could  have  told,  from  his  meas- 
ured morning  greetings,  his  offers  or  acceptance  of  snuff, 
his  lightly  witty  words,  what  a  tumult  of  anxiety  raged 
within  him.  By  this  time  d'Argenson  must  be  entering 
Paris.  Did  any  besides  himself  know  that  errand  on  which 
he  went?  More,  did  any  surmise  its  result?  How  long  had 
he  still  to  remain  in  this,  his  home?  Hours?  Years?  Was 
his  dread,  after  all,  reasonable?  Had  any  one  divulged 
to  her  his  part  in  the  Metz  affair?  True,  it  was  Court 
property;  but — ah!  he  had  been  very  rash  in  the  Alsatian 
city.  Never  should  he  forget  the  morning  when  he  had 
cried  out,  before  all  the  salon  there,  the  news  that  Louis 
had  grown  worse  in  the  last  hours.  Here,  even  now,  like  a 
ghost  conjured  up  by  memory,  was  young  Monseigneur 
de  Chartres,  coming  out  from  the  Bull's-eye.  Du  Plessis, 


Deep   Waters  367 

as  he  saluted,  quivered.  Then,  with  a  gallant  recupera- 
tion, he  smiled  to  himself,  and  passed  on  into  that  little  room 
of  fate. 

Considering  that  the  hour  was  before  morning  mass,  the 
CEil  -  de  -  Boeuf  was  unusually  thronged.  Both  men  and 
women  were  there,  and  the  place  hummed  with  conversation. 
For  the  first  moment  or  two  Richelieu  held  off  from  the  com- 
pany, judging,  by  means  of  his  trained  ear  and  his  long 
experience,  the  nature  of  the  gossip  from  the  key  of  the  con- 
glomerate sound.  It  varied  to-day,  now  high  with  laugh- 
ter, now  more  ominous,  again  medium  with  uncertainty. 
The  omen  was  good.  It  boded  no  definite  evils  of  knowl- 
edge— yet.  Thereupon  the  Duke  permitted  himself  to  be 
accosted  by  M.  de  Pont-de-Vesle,  of  the  King's  formal 
household,  an  old  man,  tall  and  lean,  wearing  his  wig  d,  la 
Catogan,  and  with  a  miniature  of  Ninon  de  1'Enclos  in  his 
snuff-box. 

"Good-morning,  Monsieur  the  Grand-Nephew!  Whom 
does  the  King  receive  to-day  during  the  little  hours?" 
With  the  question  he  proffered  snuff. 

"Thank  you.  Ah!  You  use  civet.  The  King  does 
not  receive  to-day.  He  is  in  council.  Machault  reads 
the  report,"  returned  Richelieu,  very  civilly,  considering 
the  fact  that  Pont-de-Vesle  had  addressed  him  in  the  form 
which,  of  all  Bothers,  he  most  disliked. 

"Ah!  When  his  Majesty  has  not  hunted  for  a  week 
we  are  all  forlorn.  When  he  takes  to  council — Ciel! — it 
is  like  the  beginning  of  a  reign  of  Maintenon.  How  do 
you  perfume  your  snuff?" 

"Oh,  it  is  something  aromatic,  composed  for  me  by 
Castaigne,  of  Paris.  Sandal  wood,  cinnamon,  attar — I  for- 
get the  rest.  Do  me  the  honor  to  try  it." 

With  ceremonious  solemnity  Pont-de-Vesle  accepted  a 
pinch,  just  as  young  d'Aiguillon  came  smilingly  up  to 
them.  "  Good-morning,  Monsieur  le  Due !  Do  you  bring 
news,  or  come  for  it?" 

"I  come  for  it,  my  dear  Count,"  returned  Richelieu. 
"What  do  they  talk  of  in  the  CEil  to-day?" 


368         The  House   of  de  Mailly 

"One  subject  only." 

"So  bad  as  that?  Who  has  committed  it?  I  am  all 
ignorance ! ' 

"  You  mistake.     There  is  no  fresh  scandal.     It  is — " 

"Women,"  put  in  Pont-de-Vesle,  sourly. 

"Oh!     What  women?" 

"That  is  more  difficult.  There  are  many  rumors.  It 
is  said  in  Paris  that — Mme.  de  Chateauroux  is  to  come 
back." 

The  Duke  raised  his  eyebrows.  "  Paris !  That  is  a  cu- 
rious news-mart.  What  says  Versailles?" 

"  Oh! — "  Young  d'Aiguillon  stopped,  assuming  a  mys- 
terious expression. 

".We  say,"  interrupted  the  other,  quickly,  "that  there 
are  other  candidates  who  would  please  better." 

"For  instance?" 

"Well,  for  one,  the  little  American,  Mme.  de  Mailly. 
But,  parbleu !  the  post  must  not  remain  forever  in  one 
family!  I  think  that  this  girl  should  never  have  been 
taken  up.  What  is  her  blood?  Her  husband  swears  to 
five  generations;  but — the  husband! — Pouf!" 

"  But  the  Queen  was  delighted  with  her,  and — the  King 
will  be,"  cried  the  young  Count,  pleasantly. 

"Who  is  your  candidate,  monsieur?"  demanded  Rich- 
elieu of  Pont-de-Vesle. 

"  Mine?  Oh — that  is  a  delicate  question.  Nevertheless, 
1  think  'tis  time  we  had  a  woman  of  station.  Now,  Mme. 
de  Grammont — " 

"Heavens!" 

"An  etiquette?    You  are  mad,  monsieur  I" 

"Not  at  all.     I  protest—" 

"Is  she,  then,  so  willing  to  accept  the  post?" 

Pont-de-Vesle  stiffened.  "Oh,  as  to  that — I  cannot 
say.  She  is  spoken  of — not  to." 

"  Ah,  well,"  decided  d'Aiguillon,  sagely,  "after  all,  it  will 
be  the  ladies,  not  we,  who  will  settle  matters  for  themselves. " 

"As  for  me,  I  should  like  to  find  a  woman  who  would 
refuse  the  post," 


Deep   Waters  369 

And  with  this  Richelieu,  who  could  see  no  advantage 
in  continuing  the  conversation,  saluted  his  companions 
of  the  moment  and  passed  on  to  others,  whose  talk,  how- 
ever, did  not  much  vary  from  the  foregoing  style.  By 
the  time  that  the  hour  for  mass  arrived,  and  the  Court 
wended  a  leisurely  way  towards  Mansard's  chapel,  the 
favorite  Duke  was  comforted  in  mind  and  heart.  He 
hoped;  though  why,  and  on  what  grounds,  he  could  not 
have  told.  The  GEil  -  de  -  Bceuf  was  densely  ignorant  of 
the  King's  real  project.  He,  Richelieu,  knew  it  only 
too  well.  La  Chateauroux  was  to  come  back.  Paris 
knew.  How,  then,  had  he  any  right,  or  any  reason,  to 
hope?  And,  with  this  logic,  the  shadow  of  despair  came 
over  him  again,  and  through  it,  as  through  a  veil,  he  heard 
the  melancholy  intoning  of  priests'  voices  and  the  monot- 
onous chanting  of  the  choir. 

Dinner  passed,  it  were  difficult  to  say  how,  and  the 
afternoon  began.  There  was  attendance  on  his  Majesty, 
who  alternately  played  with  three  dogs  and  sulked  be- 
cause there  was  nothing  further  to  do;  a  few  moments 
at  English  tea  with  the  circle  of  Mme.  de  Boufflers;  an 
enforced  interchange  of  polite  hostilities  with  de  Ge"vres, 
in  the  Salle  d' Apollo;  and  then,  some  little  time  after  dusk 
began  to  fall,  Richelieu  made  his  way  down  to  the  landing 
of  the  Staircase  of  the  Ambassadors,  out  of  sight  of  the 
Suisses  and  the  King's  guards,  in  the  great  vestibule 
below.  He  was  intensely  nervous.  With  each  beat  of 
his  heart  a  new  shock  thrilled  unpleasantly  over  him. 
D'Argenson  must  be  returning  soon  now,  and  must  come 
in  this  way.  Minutes  only  remained  before  he  should 
know  the  end.  The  lights  in  the  great  candelabra  at  the 
stair -top  illumined  the  vast,  lifeless  ascent  but  dimly. 
Dreamily  Richelieu  thought  of  the  pageants  that  he  had 
seen  upon  this  stair;  wondered,  indeed,  if  he  should  see 
such  again.  Before  great  dread,  time  itself  flies.  It  seemed 
no  half -hour,  but  a  few  seconds  only,  to  the  waiting 
man  before  a  darkly  cloaked  figure  entered  into  the  ves- 
tibule, passed  the  Suisses  in  silence,  and  came,  with  wearily 
24 


370         The   House  of  de  Mailly 

dragging  steps,  up  the  stairs.  Half-way  up,  the  candle- 
light gleamed  for  an  instant  into  his  pallid  face.  Riche- 
lieu's heart  quivered  downward  as  he  stepped  out  from 
his  sheltering  pillar  and  stood  before  young  d'Argenson. 

"Well,  then — you  return." 

D'Argenson  shot  a  look  into  the  other's  face.  "For  a 
day,"  he  replied,  without  much  expression,  his  lip  curling 
slightly. 

"Then  she—" 

"Struck  me  off  at  once." 

Richelieu  drew  a  heavy  breath.  "And  I?"  he  asked, 
softly. 

"And  you — also." 

It  had  come,  then.  The  two  men  stood  still  on  the  stairs, 
facing  each  other  for  an  unnoted  time.  Then  Richelieu 
smiled.  "You  are  wet  with  the  rain,  Marc.  When  you 
leave  the  King,  come  to  my  rooms.  There  you  will  find 
Grachet  and  some  hot  rum.  I  must  make  my  toilet 
now.  I  have  a  party  to-night — for  the  OpeVa." 

D'Argenson  stared.  "Mon  Dieu!"  he  muttered  to  him- 
self, "we  diplomats  have  not  such  training!" 


CHAPTER   IX 

The    Duke    Swims 

OMETHING  over  an  hour  after  d'Argenson's 
return,  Richelieu,  in  full  dress,  glittering  with 
jewels  and  orders,  left  the  palace  in  his  coach, 
bound  for  the  Rue  d'Anjou.  He  was  commit- 
ting the  curious  faux-pas  of  being  too  early. 
It  was  barely  half  past  six  when  he  left  the  Boulevard  de 
la  Reine,  whence  it  was  less  than  five  minutes  to  his  des- 
tination. But  Richelieu,  under  his  gayety,  his  frequent 
laughs,  and  his  flood  of  brilliant  conversation,  so  witty 
that  d'Epernon,  seeing  him  in  his  rooms,  fancied  that 
he  had  been  drinking,  was  desperate.  Until  a  month 
ago  he  had  not  realized  how  much  his  life  meant  to 
him.  He  was  now  forty-eight  years  old,  and,  since  his 
fourteenth  year,  he  had  never  lived  out  of  the  atmosphere 
of  the  Court.  That  atmosphere  was  part  of  him.  It  clung 
about  his  every  gesture  and  about  his  speech,  punctuated 
as  that  still  was  with  the  low  patois  in  which  he  had  de- 
lighted as  a  young  rake.  His  garments  and  his  wigs 
were  of  set  and  fashion  so  inimitable  that  the  Jew  to  whom 
he  sold  them  realized  a  profit  equal  to  their  original  cost 
in  selling  them  to  members  of  the  haute  bourgeoisie 
with  Court  ambitions.  It  was  Richelieu  who  had  made 
Louis  XV.  and  his  Court  what  they  were.  It  was  Rich- 
elieu who  was  at  all  times  King  of  the  King's  house.  To 
the  last  inch  of  what  soul  he  had,  he  was  imbued  with 
Court  manners,  Court  love,  Court  lordliness.  And  now 
— now,  at  the  simple  word  of  a  woman  of  yellow  hair 
and  twenty-seven  years — his  name  was  struck  from  the 
Court  list!  He  had  been  in  straits  before,  but  never  one 


372        The  House   of  de  Mailly 

wherein  he  was  so  apparently  helpless.  This  was  incred- 
ible, monstrous,  impossible — true.  Yes,  the  great  Rich- 
elieu was  falling.  Whom  to  turn  to?  Berryer?  Machault? 
The  King  himself  ?  No.  Instinct,  with  one  of  its  incom- 
prehensible turns,  was  leading  him,  unresisted,  to  that 
house  in  the  Rue  d'Anjou  where  dwelt  a  little  girl  from 
the  American  colonies,  with  her  husband,  the  cousin  of  the 
woman  who  thought  to  ruin  him. 

Unable  to  rid  himself  of  this  curious  notion,  Richelieu 
alighted  from  his  vehicle  in  the  Rue  d'Anjou,  was  admitted 
by  the  porter,  and  proceeded  up  the  stairs  to  the  de  Mailly 
apartment.  Claude  was  not  there.  Richelieu  knew  that 
from  his  own  statement.  Madame  alone  was  within. 
How  much  depended  on  the  next  few  moments  the  Duke 
could  not  surmise.  Nevertheless,  he  gently  tried  the  door 
from  the  hall,  without  knocking.  It  was  open.  Noise- 
lessly he  entered  the  antechamber,  and,  crossing  it,  would 
have  passed  into  the  salon  but  for  a  sight  which  halted 
him  on  its  threshold,  in  the  shadow  of  the  hangings. 

The  room  before  him  was  half  lighted,  and  contained 
one  person,  who  stood  motionless,  her  back  towards  the 
antechamber,  on  the  other  side  of  the  room.  It  was  Deb- 
orah, fully  dressed  for  the  evening,  if  Richelieu  judged 
correctly;  but  in  an  attitude  which  threatened  to  destroy 
the  elegant  simplicity  of  her  coiffeur.  She  was  in  front 
of  a  little  cabinet  which  stood  against  the  wall  beside  the 
mantel-piece,  her  two  elbows,  in  their  cloudy  lace  ruffles, 
resting  upon  one  of  the  shelves.  Her  powdered  head  lay 
upon  her  arms ;  and  now  and  again  her  slight  frame  could 
be  seen  to  quiver  with  the  depth  of  a  long-drawn  sob.  What 
was  the  matter?  What  was  she  doing?  What  was  it 
that  the  cupboard  contained?  Richelieu  wondered  and 
waited.  Then  he  was  struck  with  a  welcome  notion. 
Here  was  she  in  a  sorrowful,  therefore  tender,  mood.  He 
alone  was  near  her.  Their  growing  friendship — why 
not  cement  it  with  a  delicate  passage,  delicately  arranged? 
Who  so  able  to  manage  this  successfully  as  Richelieu? 
For  Richelieu  believed  that  he  knew  all  women. 


The   Duke    Swims  373 

Silently,  then,  though  without  especial  effort  to  make 
no  sound,  he  began  moving  towards  her  by  leisurely  de- 
grees. She  heard  nothing,  and  seemed  to  feel  no  presence 
near  her.  Indeed,  at  that  moment  she  was  very  far  away, 
among  the  memories  which  the  bottles  had  conjured  up 
for  her — ghosts  of  many  things  and  people :  home,  Vir- 
ginia, Dr.  Carroll,  Sir  Charles,  black  Sambo,  the  warm 
sunlight,  the  river,  and  the  free,  wild  woods  that  were 
her  own. 

"Chere  Comtesse!" 

The  words  were  so  delicately  murmured  that  they  could 
not  startle  her.  She  only  lifted  her  head  like  one  awak- 
ing from  sleep  and  looked  slowly  about.  Seeing  Richelieu 
at  her  side,  and  remembering  the  evening,  she  suddenly 
straightened,  forced  herself  back  into  the  present,  and  be- 
gan, with  an  effort :  "  Pardon,  1  beg  of  you,  mons — " 

"Ah!  You  to  demand  pardon  of  me?  Impossible! 
1  am  early  to-night,  dear  friend.  We  have  much  time. 
See — you  grieve  for  something — some  one.  You  will  con- 
fide the  grief  to  me?  You  will  accept  my  sympathy?" 

As  Deborah  looked  for  an  instant  into  the  large,  limpid 
brown  eyes  of  the  man  before  her,  her  own  fell.  Her 
mood  also  changed.  She  was  suddenly  inclined  to  be  on 
her  guard  with  this  man,  whom  she  knew  best  as  Claude's 
mentor. 

"My  grief  was  for  many  persons  and  things.  'Twas 
for  home,  my  own  people,  my  old  friends — there — across 
the  water — "  and  she  pointed  whimsically  into  the  cabinet 
at  her  former  treasures. 

Richelieu,  with  unfeigned  curiosity,  moved  towards  the 
shelf.  Picking  up  one  of  the  bottles,  with  its  neatly  writ- 
ten label,  he  examined  it,  not  very  closely,  his  eyes  ques- 
tioning the  girl  before  him.  Deborah,  with  an  absent 
smile,  looked  at  the  crystal  phial  and  its  white,  oily  con- 
tents, with  the  inch  of  gray  sediment  at  the  bottom* 

"That  is  from  the  Spartium  scoparium,"  she  said. 

"Really?"  muttered  Richelieu,  considerably  puzzled. 
The  turn  which  the  scene  was  taking,  if  not  as  he  had 


374        The  House   of  de  Mailly 

planned  it,  was  none  the  less  interesting.  "And  is  this 
some  new  cordial  or  liqueur  which  you  and  Claude  have 
discovered  together?" 

"Heaven  forbid!"  was  the  half -laughing,  half -serious 
reply. 

"Eh!— You  mean—" 

"  Thirty  drops  have  been  fatal.  M-medicine  and — alka- 
loids were  my  tastes,  sir,  when  1  had  my  still-room." 

"And  these,"  the  Duke  pointed  to  the  contents  of  the 
shelf — "all  these  are — medicines — or  alkaloids?" 

"  They  are  both,"  she  replied,  with  a  hint  of  troubled  hesi- 
tation in  her  tone. 

"Tell  me  of  them.     I  am  interested,"  he  asked,  quietly. 

She  shook  her  head.     "There  is  not  time.     Besides — " 

"Ah!  And  these! — Now  these  are,  indeed,  curious, 
Mme.  de  Mailly!  What  are  they?" 

In  the  rear  of  the  shelf  he  had  spied  the  box  of  fungi. 
Drawing  it  towards  him,  he  took  from  it  one  of  the  shrivelled 
brown  things  and  examined  it  on  all  sides.  Deborah 
watched  him  in  silence,  her  feeling  of  uneasiness  growing. 

"What  is  it?"  he  repeated,  smiling. 

"  It  is  the  Amanita  muscaria — poison  mushrooms,  that 
we  use  sometimes  in  Maryland  for  fly-poison." 

"And  how  do  they  kill?" 

"Monsieur,  will  you  not  put  them  up?  I  think  it  is 
time  to  go." 

"Instantly,  madame;  but — tell  me  first  how  they  kill." 

He  was  regarding  her  in  such  apparent  amusement  that, 
for  the  moment,  she  was  nettled  by  the  suspicion  of  mockery. 
"  They  are  now  five  months  old — what  I  have  there.  But 
two  of  them  would  kill  a  grown  man  to-day.  There  is 
no  perceptible  effect  till  from  four  to  nine  hours  after  eating. 
Then — then,  monsieur,"  she  said,  dryly,  "the  agony  is 
not  pretty  to  behold." 

"Urn— and  do  they  taste?" 

"No.  They  are  like  leather  now.  Will  you  replace 
them  in  the  cupboard,  monsieur? — and  we  will  speak  of 
other  things." 


The   Duke   Swims  375 

Without  further  protest  Richelieu  obeyed  her,  putting 
the  fungi  carefully  away,  replacing  the  scoparium  among 
the  other  bottles,  and  closing  the  little  door  of  the  cabinet 
after  him.  Its  key  was  in  the  lock.  He  turned  it.  And 
then — then — Deborah  was  wrapping  a  cloudy  veil  about 
her  head ;  she  was  turned  from  him — he  suddenly  drew  the 
key  from  the  lock  and  slipped  it  into  his  pocket.  It  was 
instinct  that  bade  him  do  it — perhaps.  Five  minutes  later 
a  coach  rolled  away  from  the  house  in  the  Rue  d'Anjou 
and  entered  upon  the  Paris  road. 

"Who — are  to  be  with  us  this  evening?"  asked  Deborah, 
as  she  settled  back  in  a  corner  of  the  roomy  vehicle. 

"Marshal  Coigny,  Mme.  d'Egmont,  Mme.  de  Chaulnes, 
and  d'Aiguillon  will  join  us  at  the  opera.  Afterwards 
supper  will  be  served  us  in  my  salon  at  Versailles.  These 
long  drives — I  trust  they  will  not  fatigue  you.  Were  it 
not  for  the  hunt  to-morrow,  we  might  have  remained  over- 
night in  Paris.  As  it  is,  however,  it  will  be  necessary  to 
return.  Will  you  be  at  Choisy  to-morrow  afternoon,  when 
the  hunt  goes  there  for  its  famous  refreshment?" 

"I  was  asked  to  go.    Claude — "    She  stopped  suddenly. 

"He  did  not  wish  it?"  asked  Richelieu,  gently. 

"I  am  going,"  was  the  unexpected  reply. 

In  the  darkness  Richelieu  smiled. 

"Jephte"  proved  to  be  a  decided  success.  The  opera- 
house  was  crowded,  both  Queen  and  Dauphin  were  present, 
and  most  of  Versailles  were  gathered  into  the  badly  light- 
ed and  wretchedly  aired  building.  Richelieu's  party  were 
found  to  be  fairly  congenial,  and  the  Duke,  who  had  exerted 
himself  almost  beyond  his  powers,  during  the  drive,  to  ban- 
ish from  Deborah's  thoughts  the  incident  of  the  cabinet,  now 
allowed  d'Aiguillon  to  hold  full  sway  over  the  conversation, 
and  himself  sat  almost  entirely  silent  during  that  part  of  the 
evening.  How  try  to  imagine  the  gradual  trending  of  his 
thoughts?  How  surmise  their  final  concentration?  It  is 
something  that  no  mortal  of  inexperience  has  ever  been 
able  to  conceive,  no  anthropologist  capable  of  analyzing 
— that  secret,  stealthy  working  of  the  brain  faculties  round 


376        The  House   of  de  Mailly 

and  round  one  point;  how  they  approach  it  nearer  and 
nearer,  retreat  a  little,  hesitate,  advance  again,  till  the  point 
has  suddenly  been  reached ;  the  idea  and  the  will  are  one ; 
determination  is  born. 

The  party  of  six  returned,  after  the  opera,  to  Versailles, 
in  one  wide-seated  coach.  Arrived  at  the  palace  and  Riche- 
lieu's apartment  within  it,  supper  was  found  awaiting  them; 
and  the  evening  progressed  with  all  possible  gayety.  Later 
the  Marechal  de  Coigny  escorted  Mme.  de  Mailly  home; 
and,  at  four  o'clock  in  the  morning,  long  before  the  De- 
cember dawn,  Deborah  Travis  slept. 

His  Grace  de  Richelieu  was  not  so  happy.  Before  his 
salon  was  cleared  of  the  remains  of  supper  and  set  to  rights 
again,  Grachet,  his  valet,  had  put  him  gently  to  bed,  all 
pomaded,  perfumed,  silken-gowned,  and  capped.  But  the 
warming-pan  had  made  the  sheets  too  hot ;  and  the  cham- 
pagne had  more  than  usually  heated  his  head.  He  turned 
and  tossed  and  twisted  like  any  mortal,  the  great  Richelieu, 
for  the  two  heavy  hours  which  constituted  his  night ;  and 
it  was  during  that  time  that  the  Determination  was  born. 
The  idea  and  the  will  —  the  little  bronze  key  and  the 
desire  to  use  it — had  met.  Crime,  or  the  planning  of  crime, 
hovered  there  in  the  darkness  over  the  heavy  canopy. 
Satan,  cloven-hoofed,  laughing,  reclined  in  a  chair  near  his 
new  friend.  Richelieu  fell  gradually  into  a  drowsy  state. 
Strange  whispers  poured  from  his  lips.  Such  a  night  he 
had  not  spent  before,  such  would  never  spend  again. 

Morning  came,  finally.  The  Duke  rose,  with  relief,  at  a 
little  past  six,  and  dressed  by  candle-light.  Grachet  won- 
dered in  sleepy  silence  as  he  prepared  the  chocolate  at  such 
an  unheard  -  of  hour,  but  came  near  to  the  unpardonable 
false  step  of  an  exclamation,  when  his  master,  toying  idly 
with  an  egg,  said,  suddenly :  "  Grachet,  go  and  ask  Mou- 
thier — his  Majesty's  chef — to  come  to  me  at  once  if  he  can. 
Rouse  him,  if  he  is  not  yet  up." 

When  the  man  had  left  the  room  upon  his  unprecedented 
errand,  Richelieu  flung  down  his  napkin  and  sprang  to  his 
feet.  To  have  seen  his  face  and  heard  his  hoarse  breathing 


The   Duke   Swims  377 

would  have  been  to  judge  him  physically  in  pain.  He 
walked  in  great  strides  up  and  down  the  apartment,  re- 
fusing to  struggle  against  his  impulses,  crushing  out  the 
final  prompting  of  a  long-weakened  Other  Nature.  Pres- 
ently he  came  to  a  halt  before  his  chamber  door,  just  as 
Grachet  re-entered,  bringing  with  him  an  imposing  per- 
sonage, somewhat  dishevelled  as  to  wig,  but  attired  in  a 
very  neat  black  suit,  with  waistcoat  of  cherry  silk,  and  the 
blue  ribbon  of  his  order  elaborately  arranged  thereon. 

"M.  Mouthier,  my  lord." 

"  Good-morning,  Mouthier — good-morning — good-morn- 
ing," observed  the  Duke,  staring  hard  at  the  new-comer, 
and  monotonously  repeating  his  words.  "  You're  early/' 
he  added,  at  length. 

"  Your  Grace,  in  one  hour,  in  company  with  my  staff,  I 
depart  for  Choisy,"  responded  the  great  cook,  with  re- 
proachful respect  and  something  of  the  manner  of  a  world- 
famed  general  announcing  the  opening  move  of  the  cam- 
paign to  his  sovereign. 

"Ah — Choisy."  Richelieu  smiled  as  he  drew  out  his 
words. 

Grachet  stared  at  his  master,  and  Mouthier  instantly 
resolved  to  be  eccentric  of  a  morning — if  possible. 

"Mouthier,  you  are,  to-day,  going  to  allow  his  Majesty 
to  create  a  vol-au-vent  royal  a  la  Chateauroux — is  it  not 
so?"  • 

"His  Majesty  has  informed  your  Grace?" 

"  No.  The  gods  whispered  it.  But,  Mouthier,  the  gods 
refused  to  go  further  than  the  name.  Therefore  I  come  to 
you,  that  I  may  learn  more  of  a  dish  which  a  king  will  pre- 
pare for  a  duchess.  Tell  me,  oh,  prince  of  thy  art,  is  this 
dish  of  kings  sweet  or  sour,  thick  or  thin,  cold  or  hot? 
I  would  match  my  coat  to  its  consistency.  What  ingre- 
dients does  it  contain?  Of  what  is  it  compounded?" 

"  Your  Grace — "  The  cook  hesitated  painfully,  but  found 
his  professional  instinct  stronger  than  his  reverence  for 
rank.  "  Your  Grace — if  I  might  be  assured  that  Marin — 
had  nothing  to  do  with  this  affair — " 


378         The  House   of  de  Mailly 

"Marin?  Oh!  I  see!  But  you  cannot  deem  Marin 
your  rival?  Mouthier,  between  us,  Marin  is  a  no  one,  a 
second-rate  man,  unfit  even  for  the  taste  of  M.  de  Soubise. 
How  the  cordon  bleu  ever  came  to  be  delivered  to  him — 
bah!  Mouthier,  you  would  not  imagine  me  as  intriguing 
with — with  a  Marin,  eh?" 

"Ah,  Monseigneur,  Monseigneur,  forgive!  My  suspi- 
cions were  base,  false.  Monseigneur,  the  vol-au-vent  royal 
a  la  Chateauroux  is  a  pate,  a  round  pastry  case,  filled 
with  a  delightful  compound  of — of  chicken,  of  sweetbreads, 
of  truffles,  of  cock's-combs,  of  mushrooms — " 

"Ah!     You  may  go,  Mouthier.     You  may  go,  I  say!" 

Grachet  stole  a  terrified  glance  at  the  Duke.  Mouthier, 
cut  short  at  the  very  beginning  of  a  recitation  delicious  to 
his  creative  soul,  looked  with  pathetic  appeal  at  the  great 
man,  saw  him  point  relentlessly  to  the  antechamber  door, 
with  unmistakable  command  in  his  face,  and  so,  thorough- 
ly disappointed,  and  scarcely,  in  that  disappointment,  find- 
ing time  to  wonder,  began  reluctantly  backing,  and,  still 
murmuring  raptly,  "  seasoned  with  salt,  with  black  butter, 
delicate  spice,  with  bay-leaves,  and  covered  with  the  sauce 
a — la — ,"  disappeared  through  the  doorway  and  was  visible 
no  more. 

"  Ah !    That  is  settled,  then.     Grachet,  a  cloak  and  hat. " 

"M—M— Monsieur?" 

"A  cloak  and  hat!     Diable!     What  has  got  you?" 

The  valet,  stumbling  with  awkward  haste,  obeyed  him. 
Richelieu  wrapped  himself  in  the  cloak,  took  up  the  hat, 
and,  before  he  left  the  room,  tossed  his  man  a  louis  d'or. 
"There.  I  am  not  mad,  Grachet — except  in  giving  you 
that,  perhaps.  But  be  silent  about  Mouthier.  You  un- 
derstand?" 

Gold  quickens  the  understanding.  Grachet's  eyes  grew 
bright  again  as  he  murmured  quickly:  "Mouthier  was 
never  here,  Monsieur  le  Due." 

Richelieu  laughed.  "Very  well.  Have  a  good  hunt- 
ing-suit out  when  I  return,  and  I  will  ride  Graille  to  the 
meet." 


The   Duke   Swims  379 

Then  Richelieu  left  his  apartment  and  strode  away 
through  the  dim,  deserted  corridors,  carrying  along  with  him 
a  hollow,  dreary  echo.  Descending  the  grand  staircase  where 
yesterday  he  had  waited  for  d'Argenson's  return,  he  passed 
the  drowsy  guards  in  the  vestibule,  and  entered  into  the 
gray,  chilly  morning.  It  was  very  cold.  In  the  night  the 
rain  had  turned  to  snow,  and  the  Great  Cross  Canal  lay 
before  him  frozen  to  ice.  The  esplanade,  the  star,  and  the 
park  were  covered  with  soft  white,  still  unbroken,  for  it  was 
too  early  as  yet  for  marring  footprints.  With  blood  quick- 
ening in  his  veins,  and  breath  smoking  in  the  frosty  air, 
Richelieu  hurried  into  the  desolate  park,  emerging  at  length 
on  the  Avenue  de  Paris,  on  the  edge  of  the  town  of  Ver- 
sailles. The  little  city  was  barely  awake.  The  dwelling- 
streets  were  still.  Nevertheless,  two  or  three  men  whom 
Richelieu  knew,  and  who  took  as  much  pains  as  he  could 
have  wished  to  avoid  notice,  were  moving  dismally,  on  foot 
or  in  chairs,  to  their  respective  rooms.  Shutters  of  shops 
were  being  taken  down,  and  a  single  church  clock  boomed 
a  quarter  to  eight  when  the  Duke  halted  before  the  house 
in  the  Rue  d'Anjou. 

Richelieu  had  some  difficulty  in  rousing  the  concierge. 
When  the  door  was  finally  opened  to  him  by  a  man  in  a  red 
nightcap,  he  pulled  his  own  hat  so  far  over  his  face  and  his 
cloak  so  much  about  his  ears  as  to  be  unrecognizable,  and 
hastened  up-stairs.  At  the  door  of  the  de  Mailly  apart- 
ment he  stopped,  hesitating.  Was  any  one  up  within?  He 
was,  perhaps,  ruining  himself  by  coming  so  early;  yet  it 
was  the  only  thing  to  be  done.  From  an  inner  pocket  he 
pulled  the  little  bronze  key  to  the  cabinet  in  the  salon  so 
near  at  hand.  The  sight  gave  him  courage,  and  he  tapped 
at  the  door.  There  was  a  pause.  His  heart  beat  furiously 
now.  Presently  he  tapped  again.  Thereupon,  as  much 
to  his  surprise  as  to  his  relief,  the  door  was  thrown  open  by 
a  tired-looking  lackey.  Richelieu  walked  swiftly  into  the 
antechamber,  passed  through  it,  and  paused  in  the  salon, 
•where  the  servant,  astonished  and  mistrustful,  came  up 
with  him.  Here  the  Duke  removed  his  hat. 


380         The  House   of  de  Mailly 

"Your  Grace!  Pardon!"  muttered  the  man.  "Mon- 
sieur le  Comte  is  risen,"  he  added.  "Shall  1  announce 
you?" 

"  By  no  means!  1  have  simply  come  to  ask  Mme.  de 
Mailly  if  this — which  was  found  in  my  salon  this  morn- 
ing— could  have  been  dropped  by  her  during  supper  last 
evening.  It  is  somewhat  valuable,  1  believe.  Will  you 
inquire  of  her  maid?" 

Richelieu  held  out  to  the  man  a  pearl  pin  containing 
stones  of  some  rarity,  which,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  belonged 
to  himself.  The  servant  looked  at  it  and  slightly  shook  his 
head,  but,  catching  a  peremptory  glance  from  the  Duke, 
he  went  off,  wondering  why  such  a  man  as  Richelieu  had 
not  sent  a  servant  on  his  errand. 

The  moment  that  he  was  left  alone,  the  man  who  bore  the 
family  name  of  Louis  Xlll.'s  great  minister  turned  sharply 
towards  the  little  black  cabinet  by  the  wall.  With  a  cold 
hand,  his  limbs  stiffened,  all  apprehension  stifled  by  his 
eagerness,  he  unlocked  the  door,  thrust  his  hand  inside 
to  that  little  box  that  lay  just  where  he  had  placed  it  on 
the  night  before,  extracted  therefrom  four  of  the  small, 
round,  dry  mushrooms,  placed  them  in  an  inner  pocket  of 
his  coat,  closed  the  door  again,  relocked  it,  put  the  key  on 
the  mantel,  in  the  shadow  of  a  porcelain  vase,  and  was  sit- 
ting down,  tapping  the  floor  impatiently  with  his  foot,  when 
the  lackey  returned — empty-handed. 

"The  pin  does  belong  to  madame,  Monsieur  le  Due. 
Her  maid  tells  me  that  she  wore  it  for  the  first  time  last 
evening,  and  will  thank  you  much  for  returning  it." 

Richelieu  came  very  near  to  laughing.  Only  by  making 
a  strong  effort  did  he  control  his  expression.  "1  am  de- 
lighted that  it  was  found,"  he  murmured;  and  thereupon 
he  rapidly  departed  from  that  small  apartment  where,  it 
seemed,  dwelt  more  people  than  M.  and  Mme.  de  Mailly. 

After  all,  du  Plessis  could  not  have  disposed  of  his  pearls 
to  better  advantage.  He  had  not  been  designed  by  nature 
for  such  a  part  as  he  was  playing  now ;  and  the  affair  could 
scarcely  have  been  conducted  with  less  prudence.  Provi- 


The   Duke   Swims  381 

dence — or  Satan — had  favored  him  in  a  most  unexpected 
way;  for  who  was  there  now  to  tell  of  his  early  and  un- 
wonted visit  to  the  de  Mailly  household?  Certainly  not 
the  clever  person  who  had  made  five  or  ten  thousand  livres 
out  of  it.  On  his  return  walk  towards  the  palace,  Mon- 
sieur le  Due  mused  appreciatively  on  the  past  incident. 

"  I  wonder  if  it  behooves  me  quietly  to  signify  to  Claude 
that  such  a  man  as  his  first  lackey  is  wasting  a  valuable 
life  in  his  present  position?  No.  On  the  contrary,  I  will 
let  Claude  discover  that  for  himself.  When  that  man  is 
discharged,  I  should  very  much  like  to  employ  him.  Gra- 
chet — is  getting — a  little — old." 


CHAPTER   X 

"Vol-au-Vent   Royal" 

WELVE  miles  from  Versailles,  or  fourteen  by 
the  Sceaux  road,  nearly  eight  from  Paris, 
situated  upon  the  bank  of  the  Seine,  shaded 
with  woods  and  flanked  by  a  tiny  hamlet, 
stood  the  most  famous  retreat  of  Louis  XV., 
the  chateau  or  palace  called  Choisy-le-Roi.  As  Marly,  with 
its  rows  of  cold  salons,  its  stiff  corridors  and  great  suites  of 
rooms,  was  Louis  XIV.  's  ideal  of  a  private  house,  so  Choisy, 
with  its  tiny  apartments,  cosey  fireplaces,  little,  circular 
reception-room,  and  miniature  salle-&-manger,  with  ample 
kitchen  and  magnificent  appurtenances  on  the  first  floor  in 
the  rear,  was  the  present  Bourbon's  great  delight.  Here 
for  ten  years,  now,  ever  since  the  first  months  of  Louise  de 
Mailly's  reign,  Louis,  in  increasing  fits  of  ennui  or  weari- 
ness, and,  later  still,  perhaps,  during  periods  of  regret,  had 
been  accustomed  to  seek  relief  from  the  formality  of  his 
existence  in  parties  taking  different  degrees  of  freedom, 
which,  more  often  than  not,  rose  towards  their  end  to  a 
pitch  of  positive  rowdyism.  Only  a  certain  set  of  the 
Court  was  ever  asked  here;  and  nothing,  perhaps,  could 
more  plainly  illustrate  the  difference  in  the  characters  of 
Louis  XV.  and  of  his  grandfather  than  the  contrast  be- 
tween the  list  for  Marly  in  the  old  days  and  that  for 
Choisy  half  a  century  later. 

The  gayety  to  be  attained  by  this  party  of  the  jth  of  De- 
cember, however,  promised  to  be  less  notable  in  several  re- 
spects than  was  usually  the  case.  First,  the  whole  thing 
must  take  place  in  the  afternoon,  since  the  King  was  to  re- 
turn to  her  Majesty's  salon  at  Versailles  in  the  evening. 


"  Vol-au-Vent   Royal"  383 

Secondly,  the  gentlemen  of  the  company  would  have  been 
all  day  in  the  saddle,  and  were  certain  to  be  weary  and 
inclined  to  eat,  rather  than  talk.  Thirdly,  according  to 
general  rumors,  his  Majesty,  and,  in  consequence,  the  pages 
of  the  Court,  would  be  occupied  in  the  kitchen  till  refresh- 
ments were  served,  thus  leaving  the  lesser  lights  alone  to 
entertain  the  women  for  an  hour  or  more.  After  the  repast 
it  would  be  necessary  to  depart  speedily  for  Versailles,  in 
order  to  be  in  time  to  make  a  toilet  for  the  Queen's  salon. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  this  entire  affair  had  been  planned 
with  the  greatest  care  by  Louis  himself,  who,  with  purpose 
very  different  from  usual  in  visiting  Choisy  to-day,  had 
taken  care  to  leave  no  loophole  for  impropriety,  which,  in 
its  wholesale  form,  was  the  most  distasteful  thing  that  Mme. 
de  Chateauroux  ever  had  to  endure. 

At  eleven  o'clock  in  the  morning  Mouthier,  with  his  staff 
and  extra  train  of  servants  to  assist  those  regularly  in- 
stalled at  the  chateau,  arrived,  and  entered  immediately 
upon  his  duties.  In  a  box  which  he  himself  had  borne  all 
the  way  from  Versailles  on  his  knee,  reposed  twelve  cases 
of  fresh  pastry,  with  elaborate  scroll-work  patterns  upon 
their  sides  and  covers.  One  of  these,  smaller  by  half 
than  the  rest,  was  a  work  of  art  such  as  only  Mouthier 
could  have  contrived.  These  were  the  foundations  for  the 
dish  of  the  day ;  and  the  special  case  was  to  be  filled  with 
a  composition  of  the  King's  own,  for  the  delectation  of 
the  —  so-called  —  most  beautiful,  certainly  the  most  far- 
famed,  lady  in  France. 

At  something  after  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  there 
arrived  at  the  grand  entrance  of  the  chateau  a  panelled 
coach,  the  first  of  a  little  procession  of  vehicles,  each  bearing 
a  costly  burden  of  petticoated  beings,  in  great  pelisses  and 
hoods,  with  muffs  for  their  hands  that  were  very  much 
larger  than  any  three  of  their  heads  put  together — and  had 
as  much  in  them,  perhaps.  By  half  past  two  the  circular 
hallway  was  a  fluttering  mass  of  panniers,  silks,  brocades, 
and  satins ;  while  the  adjoining  salons  echoed  to  the  hum 
of  light  conversation  and  feminine  laughter.  No  dames 


384        The  House   of  de   Mailly 

d' etiquette  in  this  gay  company !  No  sheep  of  Pere  Griff  et's 
flock  here;  and  only  one  among  them  to  whom  this  was 
the  first  of  Choisy. 

The  one  was  Deborah,  who,  in  direct  disobedience  to 
Claude's  angry  commands,  after  a  sharp  quarrel  with 
him,  had  had  her  own  headstrong  way  and  come  hither, 
to  see,  forsooth,  what  it  would  all  be  like.  As  yet  she 
had  found  nothing,  certainly,  that  could  drive  from  her 
thoughts  the  unhappy  image  of  her  husband,  with  the 
love-light  gone  out  of  his  eyes ;  and  she  was  waiting  with 
intense  eagerness  for  the  arrival  of  the  hunting-party. 
The  rest  of  the  company  being  in  the  same  state  of  an- 
ticipation, her  restlessness  called  forth  only  one  whisper 
from  Mme.  de  Gontaut,  to  the  effect  that  it  was  shockingly 
bad  taste  to  watch  openly  at  the  windows  for  the  arrival 
of  his  Majesty.  The  companion  lady  sniffed  slightly,  but 
presently  rustled  over  herself  to  join  the  group  of  dames, 
who  were  looking  out  upon  the  snowy  driveway  and  the 
black,  bare-branched  trees  before  them.  Presently  there 
came  from  this  little  company  a  quick  murmur  of  ex- 
clamations, which  occasioned  an  instantaneous  general 
movement  towards  them. 

"1  hear  no  horns.  Have  they  shot  nothing  to-day?" 
cried  one  who  could  not  see. 

"My  dear,  it  is  not  .the  King.     It  is  a  coach." 

"Ah!" 

"MonDieu!" 

"What  is  it?  Who  is  it?  Who  is  so  late?  Are  not 
all  here?" 

Deborah  had  watched  the  arrival  of  the  coach  with  some 
indifference.  A  liveried  footman  leaped  down  from  be- 
hind and  opened  the  door.  Thereupon  a  woman,  hooded 
and  cloaked  in  scarlet  velvet,  sable-lined,  her  huge  panniers 
managed  with  graceful  ease,  her  great  fur  muff  held  high 
in  both  hands,  stepped  forth,  alone. 

"It  is  the  Duchesse  de  Chateauroux,"  said  Deborah, in 
a  curiously  quiet  voice,  her  words  being  utterly  unheeded 
in  the  babel  rising  round  her.  This,  then — was  this  why 


"Vol-au-Vent   Royal"  385 

Claude  had  angrily  forbidden  her  to  come?  Was  he  riding 
here  simply  to  meet  this  woman — for  whose  sake  he  had 
been  exiled  from  France?  Naturally  she — his  wife — the 
American  colonial — was  not  wanted  at  the  meeting.  And 
thus  Deborah  leaned  back  against  the  wall,  having  sud- 
denly become  very  white. 

"Look  at  the  de  Mailly!"  whispered  Mme.  de  Gontaut 
to  Victorine  de  Coigny.  "His  Majesty's  arrival  will  be 
different  now." 

"You  belie  her.  Mme.  de  Mailly  is  not  in  love  with 
the  King,"  returned  the  little  Marechale,  quietly. 

The  Gontaut  did  not  reply.  She  had  no  more  time  to 
waste  upon  Deborah,  who  had  ceased  to  be  observed 
in  the  general  tumult.  The  chorus  of  exclamations  fell 
now  to  a  series  of  whispers,  for  la  Chateauroux  was  in 
the  house.  How  to  receive  her?  After  so  many  months 
of  utter  disgrace  was  she  at  once,  without  protest,  to  step, 
with  all  her  old,  disdainful  insolence,  into  the  second  seat 
at  Versailles?  Certainly  it  must  have  been  at  royal  bid- 
ding that  she  came  here.  The  hopeless  daring  of  the  other- 
wise was  not  conceivable.  Nevertheless,  this  was  a  shock 
difficult  to  recover  from.  The  whispers,  which,  during  the 
anticipation,  had  almost  ceased,  began  to  run  again  round 
the  room. 

"The  Duchess  is  long  enough  in  removing  her  wraps." 
"She  is  disconcerted  to  find  herself  before  the  King." 
"Nevertheless — soon  or  late — she  must  face  us." 
"Ah,  if  we  but  dared — all  of  us — to  refuse  recognition!" 
"It  is   impossible.     Besides — the  King   would   banish 
the  whole  Court." 
"Here  she  is." 

At  last,  amid  a  perfect  stillness,  Marie  Anne  de  Mailly- 
Nesle  re-entered  that  Choisy  room  which  she  had  seen  last 
nine  months  before.  Then,  her  exit  had  been  the  signal 
for  the  cessation  of  pleasure.  Her  rule  was  unthreatened, 
absolute.  Now,  as  she  came  in — silence.  She  passed 
slowly  across  the  room,  glancing  now  and  then,  to  the 
right  and  left,  at  tne  froaen  groups  of  women  who,  a  year 
25 


386         The  House  of  de  Mailly 

ago,  would  have  risked  the  ruin  of  their  costliest  garments 
for  the  sake  of  the  first  word  with  her.  Yet  now,  still, 
silence. 

The  costume  of  the  Duchess  was  a  marvel  to  see.  But 
her  face  received  most  mental  comments :  it  was  so  thin, 
the  eyes  were  so  large,  the  cheeks  hotly  flushed  even 
through  the  regulation  rouge,  the  patches  emphasizing 
strongly  the  marble  whiteness  of  the  temples  and  lower 
part  of  her  face.  An  ordeal  like  this,  however,  might 
have  turned  any  woman  pale.  Deborah  realized  it,  as, 
dully,  she  watched  Claude's  cousin.  A  kind  of  pity, 
mingled  with  anger  at  the  women  about  her,  came  over 
her  own  unhappiness.  These  women — what  had  they 
to  lose  by  the  arrival  of  madame?  Not  a  husband's  love. 
Only  a  possible  smile  from  the  master  of  a  miserable, 
helpless  Queen.  And  so  they  stood  here,  like  statues, 
torturing  a  woman,  for  the  pure  malice  of  it.  Faugh! 
These  Court  ways  were  not  Deborah's.  A  moment  more 
and  two  women,  out  of  the  twenty,  had  started  suddenly 
forward  to  the  Chateauroux.  The  first  was  Victorine  de 
Coigny;  the  second  was  Deborah  Travis  of  Maryland. 
As  she  courtesied  to  the  favorite,  and  felt  one  of  her  hands 
taken  into  the  cold  palm  of  that  golden-haired  cousin,  a 
sudden  fanfaronade  of  hunting-horns  and  a  cutting  of 
hoofs  through  the  crisp  snow  to  the  road  broke  the  still- 
ness. The  great  Duchess  drew  a  long  sigh.  Her  ordeal 
was  over.  In  five  minutes  a  stream  of  gentlemen  was 
pouring  into  the  room  after  Louis,  their  King,  who  moved 
straight  to  the  side  of  his  lady,  raised  her  hand  to  his 
lips,  and  then  said,  in  a  ringing  tone: 

"  We  learn  of  your  recovery  from  illness  with  the  great- 
est happiness,  madame,  and  it  is  our  pleasure  to  welcome 
you  again  to  our  Court,  where  we  trust  that  you  will 
to-morrow  resume  your  former  duties,  as  usual." 

Then  his  Majesty,  dropping  the  Majesty  and  his  voice 
together,  whispered  a  few  words  that  brought  a  smile  to 
the  curved  lips ;  after  which  he  stepped  back  to  make  way 
for  the  press  of  men  and  women,  who  were  fairly  struggling 


"Vol-au-Vent    Royal"  387 

with  each  other  for  the  opportunity  of  speaking  to  their 
dear  Duchess. 

Louis,  on  retiring  from  madame's  side,  found  himself 
near  Deborah.  Her  piquant  face  had  always  pleased  him. 
He  bent  over  her  now  with  a  gallant  compliment.  The 
girl,  quickening  with  pleasure,  dropped  a  courtesy,  mur- 
muring, a  little  confusedly,  "Your  Majes — " 

"Not  Majesty  —  never  Majesty  here — dear  madame. 
I  am  simple  Chevalier,  to  be  addressed  only  by  those  who 
love  me.  Will  you  now  allow  me  to  continue  our  con- 
versation?" and  Louis  smiled  slyly. 

"Yes,  Chevalier,"  was  the  demure  response.  "For  it  is 
the  duty — the  du — "  she  stopped  speaking,  suddenly,  her 
eyes  fixed  on  something  across  the  room.  Louis,  see- 
ing her  expression,  at  once  followed  the  gaze,  and  himself 
presently  encountered  the  look  of  Claude,  who,  with  face 
set  and  pale,  was  staring  at  them,  oblivious  of  surround- 
ings, time,  and  place. 

The  King  shrugged.  "  Peste  I  It  is  the  husband.  He 
is  an  annoyance — that  man !  Well,  then — I  retire,  Madame 
la  Comtesse,  to  prepare  refreshments  for  our  company." 
Smiling  at  her  astonishment,  Louis  bowed  and  left  her, 
making  his  way  to  the  side  of  Richelieu,  who  was  talking 
with  Penthievre. 

"Come,  gentlemen,  I  retire  to  the  kitchen.  See  that 
d'Epernon,  de  Coigny,  de  G£vres,  and  Sauvr6  follow  us 
immediately." 

Thereupon  the  King,  obstructed  by  nothing  more  serious 
than  the  wistful  glances  of  the  women,  passed  over  to  a 
small  tapestried  door,  which  led  out  of  the  salon  and 
through  a  long  passage  into  the  celebrated  apartment  where 
Mouthier  and  a  reverend  staff  awaited  him. 

"Ah,  my  good  Mouthier!  All  is  ready?  Hein?  Ex- 
cellent! What  menu  is  there  besides  our  famous  pate"? 
My  garments,  Clement!" 

While  the  chef,  with  many  bows,  recited  with  great 
unction  the  enormous  quantity  of  dishes  which  were  to 
be  served  as  "light  refreshment"  for  the  distinguished 


388         The  House  of  de  Mailly 

company,  a  young  valet  of  the  King's  household  ap- 
proached with  a  set  of  white  linen  garments  which  the 
King,  his  hunting  -  coat  and  waistcoat  removed,  pro- 
ceeded to  don  with  great  satisfaction.  The  toilet  made, 
and  the  white  cap  set  over  his  wig,  he  turned  to  the 
chef: 

"And  now,  Mouthier,  for  the  great  dish.  How  does 
it  go?  What  do  we  need  for  it?" 

"Upon  this  table,  Chevalier,  are  arranged  all  the  in- 
gredients. They  are  not,  however,  prepared  as  yet." 
Mouthier  waved  his  hand  over  the  special  table  which 
was  covered  with  a  variety  of  utensils  and  the  materials 
necessary  for  the  composition  of  the  vol-au-vent.  Louis 
went  over  and  began  examining  them  with  interest. 

"  How  long  does  it  take  in  the  cooking,  Mouthier?" 

"In  half  an  hour  the  dish  might  be  completed.  Here 
is  the  case  of  pastry  which  was  prepared  beforehand." 

"Yes — certainly.     Ah, gentlemen !     You  are  in  time!" 

The  last  words  were  addressed  to  the  six  men  who  now 
entered  the  kitchen  in  a  body.  They  were  at  once  fur- 
nished with  garments  duplicating  those  of  the  King,  which 
they  proceeded  to  don  with  much  real  or  forced  merriment. 
For  all  the  pages,  it  must  be  confessed,  did  not  share  their 
sovereign's  love  for  this  plebeian  art.  No  one  noticed 
when  Richelieu  made  a  deft  removal  of  something  unseen 
from  the  pocket  of  his  hunting-coat  to  that  of  his  cooking- 
jacket;  for  Louis  was  fussing  over  the  chicken,  and  the 
others  still  jested  with  each  other,  or  looked,  with  some 
distaste,  over  the  large  room,  with  its  rough  stone  walls 
and  chilly  floor,  and  at  the  great,  open  fireplace,  with  its 
iron  hooks  and  bars  for  kettles,  its  spits  for  roasts,  and 
iron  pots  swinging  on  chains  or  placed  in  the  ashes,  from 
which  already  fragrant  steam  was  rising.  About  this  great 
place,  which  resembled  a  volcanic  crater  tipped  to  one  side, 
clustered  a  group  of  Mouthier 's  assistants,  busied  over 
various  dishes  under  preparation. 

"Come,  my  friends,  come!  To  work!  We  must  not 
keep  the  ladies  too  long  waiting;  and  there  is  also  the 


"  Vol-au-Vent   Royal"  389 

return  to  Versailles  to-night.  I  am  famished  now.  Mou- 
thier, once  again  read  to  us  the  rules  for  vol-au-vent." 

Mouthier  took  a  slight  pause  for  breath  and  mental 
concentration,  and  then,  with  joyful  obedience,  com- 
menced :  "  Your  Majesty  will  find  before  him,  in  proper 
quantities,  which  I  have  myself  unerringly  measured,  the 
cooked  chicken,  the  uncut  sweetbreads  and  mushrooms, 
truffles  whole,  selected  cocks '-combs,  essence  of  chicken 
jellied,  wheat  flour  of  the  most  delicate  variety,  fresh  but- 
ter, cream,  an  onion,  a  carrot,  salt,  pepper,  mace,  ground 
spice,  and  a  fine  lemon.  Now  in  this  small  kettle  the  flour 
and  butter  must  first  be  warmed  together  and  stirred  to  a 
cream;  and  when  it  boils  we  will  add  one-half  the  salt, 
pepper,  and  jelly  of  chicken,  together  with  a  suspicion  of 
carrot  and  onion,  which  must  boil  in  a  tout  ensemble  for 
some  moments — " 

"Yes,  yes,  yes!  I  will  do  it  at  once!"  cried  Louis,  seiz- 
ing the  kettle. 

Mouthier  sprang  towards  him.  "  Sire,  I  beg — I  plead — 
one  moment !  This  must  not  be  begun  till  the  sweetbreads 
are  chopping,  the  mushrooms  and  truffles  cut  in  cubes, 
the  lemon  grated  and  its  juice  pressed  out." 

"Certainly.  Let  us  begin!  Mouthier,  you  shall  direct 
us  all  as  we  proceed.  De  G6vres,  you  shall  prepare  the 
sweetbreads — " 

"And  I,  Chevalier,  will  cut  mushrooms,  while  d'Eper- 
non,  who  is  on  tiptoe  with  enthusiasm,  does  the  truffles!" 
suggested  Richelieu,  smiling. 

"Very  well  —  very  well!  Marshal,  you  shall  slice  the 
carrot.  You  may  imagine  that  it  is  an  English  army. 
Sau vre" — weep  over  the  onion ! — ah !  That  progresses  now ! ' ' 

While  he  flung  these  rapid  phrases  about  him,  the  King, 
with  a  by  no  means  unskilful  hand,  had  thrown  the  flour 
and  butter  into  his  kettle,  and  hurried  to  the  fire,  while  an 
attendant  made  ready  a  bed  of  red  embers  in  a  corner, 
where  the  hottest  flames  might  be  avoided.  Here,  over  the 
first  pait  of  his  preparation,  squatted  the  grandson  of  the 
Sun  King,  spoon  in  hand,  stirring  vigorously,  puffing  with 


39°        The  House   of  de  Mailly 

heat,  and  mightily  enjoying  himself.  No  casual  observer, 
looking  into  the  room  at  this  moment,  could  have  distin- 
guished born  cook  from  Marquis,  scullion  from  Duke,  chef 
from  King.  M.  de  Gevres,  his  delicate  brow  damp  with 
the  sweat  of  toil,  sat  gloomily  upon  a  wooden  stool,  a  flat 
board  on  his  knees,  a  villanous  knife  in  his  hands,  hack- 
ing vindictively  at  the  helpless  sweetbreads.  De  Coigny, 
with  a  light  touch,  sliced  carrots  and  carried  on  a  laugh- 
ing conversation  with  M.  de  Sauvre,  who,  with  nose  tilted 
in  the  air,  demolished  a  very  large  onion  with  a  very  bad 
grace;  while  d'Epernon,  near  by,  his  usual  blase  manner 
gone,  worked  laboriously  at  the  truffles,  proving  so  slow 
at  the  business  that  Penthievre,  after  watching  him  for 
a  moment  or  two,  obtained  an  implement  from  Mouthier, 
and  went  to  his  assistance.  De  Richelieu  was  more  ex- 
clusive. He,  with  board,  bowl,  knife,  and  four  dark  mush- 
rooms, had  crossed  the  room  and  seated  himself  in  a  dis- 
tant corner.  Who  was  to  note  any  change  in  the  appear- 
ance of  four  of  his  fungi?  Who  suspicious  enough  and 
discourteous  enough  to  question  such  a  man  about  the 
contents  of  his  earthen  bowl  when  the  King,  after  much 
measuring,  stirring,  boiling,  and  adding,  finally  called  in 
excited  tones  for  the  mushrooms,  truffles,  and  cocks'-combs, 
announcing  to  the  anxious  de  Gevres  that  for  five  minutes 
still  he  must  work  at  the  sweetbreads? 

The  three  Dukes,  each  with  his  tribute,  approached  the 
fireplace,  where  Louis  knelt  over  the  savory  mixture, 
which  had  by  now  been  transferred  to  a  larger  kettle. 

"The  truffles,  d'Epernon — slowly — with  care —  Voil&I 
Tis  done." 

Louis  stirred  vigorously,  and  d'Epernon,  with  a  sigh 
of  relief,  returned  to  the  table,  his  task  completed. 

"  The  cocks'-combs,  Penthievre — so !  That  is  well.  That 
goes  charmingly.  And  now,  du  Plessis — the  mushrooms. 
They  are  finely  cut?" 

"I  trust  so,  Chevalier." 

The  King  glanced  into  the  dish,  but  the  flames  which 
danced  before  his  eyes  made  it  impossible  to  notice  the 


"  Vol-au-Vent   Royal"  391 

slight  trembling  of  Richelieu's  hands.  Slowly  the  con- 
tents of  his  bowl  streamed  into  the  rich  mixture. 

"That  is  all  now.  Your  linen  will  burn,"  observed 
Louis,  as  the  Duke  remained  standing  before  him. 

Richelieu  started.  "Pardon,  Sire,"  he  said,  absently, 
as  he  moved  off  towards  the  table. 

"And  now  the  sweetbreads  and  the  chicken!"  cried  his 
Majesty. 

"  The  vol-au-vent  is  nearly  completed.  When  shall  we 
announce  refreshment?"  asked  Mouthier,  as  he  bent  over 
and  sniffed  his  invention. 

"In  fifteen  minutes.  It  is  really  delightful,  Mouthier. 
Du  Plessis,  my  coat!" 

As  the  Duke  helped  his  sovereign  again  into  the  green 
hunting-coat,  he  took  occasion  to  whisper,  with  well- 
concealed  anxiety :  "  Will  your  Majesty  grant  me  a  favor 
for  the  afternoon?" 

"What's  that?" 

"  Permit  me  to  sit  at  table  at  some  distance  from — Mme. 
de  Chateauroux." 

The  King  shot  a  swift  look  into  his  gentleman's  eyes, 
and  it  seemed  as  though  he  would  speak.  Richelieu  knew 
from  the  glance  that  the  fatal  list  had  already  been  seen, 
though  not  executed,  by  the  master  of  Versailles.  "Sit 
where  you  choose.  It  will  be  as  usual — hors  d' etiquette," 
he  said,  at  length,  with  indifference.  And  then,  when  the 
others  came  up,  after  recoating  themselves,  his  Majesty 
led  the  way  back  to  the  salons. 

The  re-entrance  of  the  royal  group  apparently  made  no 
stir  in  the  drawing-room.  No  one  rose;  but  a  new,  more 
open  note  crept  into  the  conversation,  and  there  ensued 
a  short,  interested  silence  as  the  King,  speaking  on  the 
way  to  various  ladies  and  gentlemen,  made  his  way  slowly 
to  the  side  of  the  Chateauroux,  seated  himself  by  her,  and 
told  her  companion,  d'Egmont,  by  a  very  readable  look, 
to  depart — which  the  Count  did.  Five  minutes  later  the 
repast,  which  could  be  called  neither  dinner  nor  supper, 
was  announced. 


392         The  House  of  de    Mailly 

In  a  slow,  rustling  stream  the  gayly  dressed  dames, 
and  the  gentlemen  in  their  disordered  hunting-suits, 
poured  into  the  delightful  little  supper-room,  with  its 
panels  by  Watteau  and  Lancret,  its  great  crystal  chan- 
deliers in  which  candles  already  burned,  and  with  its  two 
long  tables  covered  with  flowers,  silver,  glass,  and  decan- 
ters of  glowing  wine.  Places  were  chosen  indiscriminately, 
for  no  order  of  rank  was  observed.  Madame  and  the 
King  seated  themselves  on  the  left  side  of  the  first  table. 
Richelieu  was  at  the  far  end,  with  Mme.  d'Egmont.  Deb- 
orah and  M.  d'Aiguillon  sat  across  from  the  King,  not 
a  great  distance  down  from  him ;  and  Claude,  with  a  per- 
sistent Marquise,  managed  to  face  his  wife.  At  the  other 
table  Mme.  de  Coigny  was  in  an  awkward  situation,  with 
Henri  de  Mailly-Nesle  upon  her  right  hand,  and  her 
husband,  the  Marshal,  on  the  other  side.  Messieurs 
d'Epernon  and  Penthievre  also,  to  their  disgust,  had  been 
obliged  to  retreat  to  the  second  table;  but  de  G6vres, 
always  lazily  fortunate,  was  at  the  right  hand  of  la  Cha- 
teauroux,  as  the  King  sat  at  her  left. 

His  Majesty  inaugurated  the  meal  and  an  era  with  a 
toast  to  "Our  dear  friend,  Marie  Anne  de  Chateauroux, 
and  her  happy  recovery  from  recent  illness." 

Every  glass  was  promptly  raised  and  the  toast  drunk 
after  a  murmur  of  concurrence.  Madame  smiled  slightly, 
in  her  peculiar  way.  She  was  wondering  with  what  heart 
certain  gentlemen  near  her  would  have  drunk  could  they 
have  foreseen  the  morrow.  Her  eyes  travelled  to  Riche- 
lieu's place.  No  doubt  he  still  deemed  her  ignorant  of 
the  Metz  treachery.  He  should  discover,  later,  his  mis- 
take. 

At  the  conclusion  of  the  toast  the  room  was  invaded  by 
six  footmen,  bearing,  on  silver  platters,  the  first  dish  of  the 
afternoon — the  long-awaited  vol-au-vent.  Just  inside  the 
door,  however,  they  halted  in  two  lines.  There  followed  a 
pause,  an  instant  of  delay,  and  then  Mouthier  himself  en- 
tered from  the  kitchen,  bearing  in  his  hands  a  round,  golden 
plate,  on  which,  delicately  smoking,  was  the  King's  pat6. 


"  Vol-au-  Vent    Royal'  393 

As  it  was  placed  before  Mme.  de  Chateauroux  a  murmur  of 
polite  interest  rose  from  every  side. 

"This  is  for  me — alone?"  inquired  the  Duchess,  smiling 
languorously  at  her  liege. 

"  For  you  alone.  1  made  it  myself,  Anne.  Like  it,  then, 
for  my  sake!" 

His  words  were  audible  to  many  around  them,  and  from 
all  sides  came  little  murmurs  of  applause  and  praise  for 
such  devotion.  The  favorite's  heart  throbbed.  Her  mis- 
ery was  at  an  end.  The  old  days  had  at  last  returned. 
The  waiting  had  not  been  in  vain.  As  a  footman  from  the 
right  presented  one  of  Mouthier's  pates  to  Louis,  her  Grace 
slid  the  pastry  cover  of  her  own  dish  off,  and,  with  a 
spoon  of  the  same  metal  as  her  platter,  dipped  the  hot 
and  creamy  filling  into  her  plate.  It  was  not  such  food  as, 
in  her  debilitated  condition,  she  should  have  had.  This 
she  was  well  aware  of,  and  determined  that  no  morsel  of 
any  of  the  other  complicated  entries  served  hereafter 
should  pass  her  lips.  This  one  thing  it  was  her  place  to 
eat.  As,  for  the  first  time,  she  raised  the  fork  to  her  lips, 
she  was  conscious  of  the  fire  of  many  eyes.  It  was  won- 
derful, indeed,  that  the  gaze  of  Louis  de  Richelieu  did  not 
burn  her  through  all  the  others,  so  steadily  fixed,  so  dilating 
with  dire  prophecy  was  it.  However,  it  was  the  big  gray 
glance  of  Deborah  de  Mailly  that  she  caught,  as  the  fork 
was  lowered  to  the  plate  again.  Deborah  was  watching, 
with  fascinated  curiosity,  this  woman  whom  she  saw  for 
the  second  time — this  woman  for  whom  Claude  had  been 
exiled. 

Madame  turned  to  the  King.  "  It  is  a  marvel — the  most 
truly  delicious  thing  that  1  have  ever  tasted,"  she  said. 
And  her  remark  was  not  utterly  untrue.  The  dish  was 
good. 

"Mouthier  shall  have  fifty  louis  from  the  treasury  to- 
morrow," observed  France.  "He  invented  it." 

"1  shall  eat  nothing  else  this  afternoon,"  she  added. 
And  the  King  was  quite  satisfied  with  his  success. 

She  was  true  to  her  word,  steadfastly  refusing  to  try 


394        The  House  of  de  Mailly 

the  numberless  dishes  that  followed  the  first.  Richelieu, 
talking  rapidly  and  brilliantly  with  Madame  d'Egmont, 
watched  the  golden  spoon  return  to  the  plate  again 
and  again,  till  that  which  he  had  helped  the  King  to 
make  was  gone,  and  his  die  and  hers  were  finally  cast, 
though  the  cups  would  remain  over  them  still  for  a  little 
while. 

The  meal  only  endured  for  the  space  of  an  hour.  Louis 
had  become  visibly  impatient  and  restless.  His  dish  once 
made,  served,  and  praised,  he  was  satisfied  with  his  day, 
and  would  have  been  glad  to  start  at  once  upon  the  return 
to  Versailles.  Since  this  could  not  be,  he  made  the  tedium 
as  brief  as  possible.  Certainly  the  affair  was  anything 
but  lively.  Deborah  wondered  more  and  more  why  Claude 
had  forbidden  her  coming  here.  Her  first  suspicion  that  it 
was  his  plan  to  meet  his  cousin  had  been  gradually  dis- 
pelled. Perceiving  the  King's  intentions,  he  had  had 
nothing  at  all  to  do  with  her.  The  matter  was  puzzling. 
To  be  sure,  much  champagne  and  mn  d'Ai  were  being 
consumed  by  every  one.  The  conversation  flowed  easily 
on  the  edge  of  questionable  topics,  and  the  broadness  of 
her  neighbor's  compliments  annoyed  her.  But  Deborah 
had  seen  all  this,  and  more,  in  many  other  places.  In  fact, 
it  was  the  common  tone  of  Court  society.  The  bugaboo  of 
Choisy  and  its  wild  carousings  was  rapidly  being  driven 
from  her  belief. 

At  a  little  past  five  o'clock  the  King  gave  the  signal  for 
the  breaking  up  of  the  party,  and,  after  a  few  moments  of 
lingering  in  the  halls  over  wraps  and  hoods,  coaches  began 
to  drive  away  from  the  royal  retreat  into  the  dark  direction 
of  Versailles.  The  first  vehicle  to  depart  was  that  of  the 
Duchesse  de  Chateauroux ;  and  in  it,  beside  her,  sat  the  King. 
Louis  was  very  happy.  Marie  Anne  de  Mailly  was  more 
to  him,  infinitely  more,  than  either  of  her  sisters  had  been. 
Her  type  of  character,  her  quiet  hauteur,  her  indifference 
to  many  things  usually  prized,  the  few  demands  that  she 
made  upon  him,  her  long  periods  of  silence,  the  hours  when 
he  knew  her  to  be  suffering  as  much  from  ennui  as  he  was 


"  Vol-au-Vent   Royal"  395 

himself — all  of  her  moods,  in  fine,  were  sympathetic  to  him; 
and  for  this  he  had  made  her  what  she  was.  Both  of  them 
were  intensely  cold-blooded.  He  knew  that  he  lacked  in 
feeling.  He  divined  her  to  be  like  himself.  And  this  fact, 
which  might  have  repelled  many  men,  pleased  him,  as 
he  realized  that  it  put  him  beyond  all  danger  of  rivalry,  so 
long  as  she  was  sure  of  an  undivided  sway  over  him. 

It  was  a  curious  drive  from  Choisy  to  Versailles.  They 
traversed  almost  the  whole  distance  in  silence.  The  road 
was  dark,  save  for  what  faint  light  the  carriage  lamps  and 
the  postilion's  lantern  cast  ahead,  and  the  horses  plunged 
rapidly  over  the  frozen  road,  dragging  the  heavy  coach  in 
and  out  of  deep  ruts,  and  over  many  stones  embedded  in  the 
snow.  Occasionally  Louis  spoke  in  a  low  voice,  and  ma- 
dame  made  effort  to  answer  him;  but  the  effort  was  ap- 
parent. She  felt  strongly  disinclined  towards  conversation, 
though  her  brain  worked  feverishly  enough.  When  finally, 
about  seven  o'clock,  the  town  of  Versailles  was  gained,  and 
there  were  but  ten  minutes  left  of  the  drive,  Louis  broached 
a  necessary  subject. 

"Your  old  apartments  are  ready  for  you,  Anne;  and  I 
have  also  had  prepared  for  you  two  extra  rooms  in  the  little 
interior  courts.  In  the  absence  of  Elise,  our  good  Hen 
will  be  your  companion.  Your  servants  are  already  in- 
stalled; and  1  have  commanded  d'Argenson  to  meet  you 
at  the  chapel  entrance.  We  shall  not  arrive  publicly." 

Madame  tried  to  speak,  but  was  obliged  to  make  two  or 
three  efforts  before  the  muscles  of  her  throat  responded. 
"D'Argenson — goes  to-morrow?"  she  said,  finally,  with  a 
dull  intonation. 

"  For  your  sake — yes.  He  is  hard  to  spare.  I  was  going 
to  make  him  Minister  of  Foreign  Affairs." 

Madame  saw  no  necessity  for  replying  to  this ;  but  pres- 
ently she  observed,  "So  her  Majesty  is  not  yet  informed 
of  my  return?" 

"  She  is  unaware  that  her  salon  to-night  is  held  in  your 
honor.  The  Court  also  is  ignorant  of  that.  I  have  planned 
it  so  that  your  appearance  may  be  that  of  a  meteor  in  the 


396        T-he   House  of  de  Mailly 

heavens  —  the  rising  of  an  unlocked  -  f  or  star,  a  new 
planet." 

"You  treat  her — your  wife — very  badly,  France." 

"  Mordi !  She  is  only  a  machine  for  prayers.  She  does 
not  think." 

Silence  fell  on  this  remark,  for  the  coach  was  rolling 
up  the  approach  to  the  palace.  Passing  the  Court  of 
Ministers,  where  was  the  grand  entrance,  it  entered  an- 
other long,  narrow  court,  a  kind  of  cleft  between  the  main 
building  and  the  north  wing,  halting  before  a  little  private 
door  leading  into  the  hallway  between  the  vestibule  sup6- 
rieure  and  the  chapel  itself.  This  door  was  open,  and 
by  the  light  of  the  lantern  hanging  from  an  iron  projection 
above  it  might  have  been  seen  a  man  in  household  livery, 
watching.  As  the  King  alighted  from  the  coach  the  ser- 
vant called  softly,  "Monsieur!" 

Out  of  the  darkness  beyond  came  a  man,  who  appeared 
in  time  to  behold  la  Chateauroux  step  from  the  vehicle. 

"D'Argenson — conduct  madame  to  her  suite." 

"Madame — 1  have  the  honor,"  muttered  young  Marc 
Antoine,  faintly. 

With  a  small,  cruel  smile,  visible  in  the  lantern-light, 
Marie  Anne  de  Mailly  extended  her  hand.  D'Argenson, 
inwardly  quivering,  lifted  it  to  his  lips. 

Something  more  than  an  hour  later  Claude  and  Deborah, 
in  chairs,  arrived  at  the  grand  entrance  of  the  palace, 
and  went  in  together.  They  were  a  little  late  for  the 
Queen's  salon,  which  fact  was  due  to  Claude's  fastidious- 
ness. Both  he  and  his  wife  had  made  fresh  and  elaborate 
toilets,  and,  as  Deborah  was  very  much  more  rapid  in  her 
operations  than  her  lord,  she  had  had  nearly  half  an  hour 
to  wait  for  him  at  their  apartment.  Debby  Travis  never 
was  noted  for  great  patience,  save  in  still-room  processes ; 
and  though  she  made  no  comments,  when  Claude  finally 
signified  his  readiness  to  proceed,  it  was  just  as  well  that 
a  lady's  panniers  took  up  all  the  room  in  one  chair,  so 
that  custom  obliged  him  to  be  carried  in  another. 


" Vol-au-Vent   Royal"  397 

They  went  up  the  Staircase  of  the  Ambassadors  together, 
in  perfect  (apparent)  amicability,  ascended  the  left  side 
of  the  second  flight,  stopping  to  speak  to  two  or  three  more 
belated  couples,  hurried  through  the  marble  room  at  the 
top,  and  so  passed  into  the  Queen's  antechamber,  in  which 
stood  half  a  dozen  gentlemen.  From  the  salon  beyond 
came  a  subdued  murmur  of  conversation;  and  Deborah, 
as  soon  as  a  servant  had  taken  her  cloak,  passed  into  it. 
Claude,  however,  was  detained  by  M.  de  Pont-de-Vesle, 
who  seized  him  by  the  coat-lapel. 

"My  dear  Count — what  is  the  world  here  for?  Why 
is  his  Majesty  in  the  next  room  there?  Why  do  we  wait? 
What  is  the  news?" 

"You  speak  like  a  catechism,  monsieur.  How  should 
I  know  the  news?" 

"Humph!     You  are — a  de  Mailly." 

"Confessed!  What  does  it  betoken?"  asked  Claude, 
smiling. 

"These  rumors — that  la  Chateauroux  is  on  her  way 
back  to  Versailles — are  they  true?" 

"Am  I  my  cousin's  keeper?" 

"You  were." 

"But  am  not." 

"Then  do  you  know  nothing?"  persisted  the  old  fellow, 
disappointedly. 

"Nothing,  monsieur." 

"Ah,  pestel  I  am  still  in  every  one's  boat.  I,  also, 
know  nothing.  What  is  one  to  do?" 

"Here  is  du  Plessis.     Ask  him." 

Richelieu  was  just  entering  from  the  salon.  As  the 
light  from  the  candles  in  the  antechamber  fell  upon  his 
face  Claude  saw  the  expression,  and  wondered  a  little. 
It  was  like  that  of  a  harassed  animal  who  has  been  goaded 
too  far.  Going  up  to  de  Mailly,  he  seized  him  by  the  arm, 
and,  adroitly  avoiding  the  importunities  of  the  other  man, 
pulled  him  roughly  to  one  side. 

"  Claude,  where  is  the  Duchess  ?  She  is  late.  The  King 
is  becoming  irritated  at  the  delay.  The  Court  knows 


398        The  House   of  de  Mailly 

nothing,  and  waits  to  learn.  There  are  all  sorts  of  rumors. 
Have  you  seen  her?" 

" Mordi!  You  hurt  my  arm!  What  in  the  world  is  the 
matter?  How  should  1  have  seen  her?  Do  you  think — 
here  she  is." 

The  Duchesse  de  Chateauroux  was  at  the  threshold  of 
the  antechamber;  stood  there,  quite  still,  for  a  moment, 
perhaps  that  those  within  the  room  might  see  her.  She 
was  worth  looking  at,  attired  as  she  was  in  royal  purple 
velvet,  her  neck  and  waist  girt  with  diamonds,  her  cheeks 
much  rouged,  but  her  temples  as  white  as  her  powdered 
hair.  Her  sister,  Mme.  de  Flavacourt,  a  foil  in  white, 
followed  at  train 's--length. 

"Ah,  Claude!"  observed  Marie  Anne,  in  a  voice  hoarser 
than  usual,  "1  have  come  to  life  again,  you  see!"  She 
smiled,  extending  her  hand.  Claude  took  it,  wondering 
at  its  burning  heat.  There  was  no  opportunity  for  re- 
plying to  her;  for,  the  instant  that  she  began  to  move 
forward,  the  few  who  were  in  the  small  room  pressed 
towards  her,  eager  for  a  first  word. 

"You  have  returned — returned  to  us  forever?"  croaked 
Pont-de-Vesle,  as  Richelieu  slipped  quietly  away  behind 
him. 

"Yes,  yes.  I  am  making  my  re-entrance  before  her 
Majesty  now.  Al — allow  me — to  pass!" 

Those  who  saw  her  suddenly  gasp  thought  it,  perhaps, 
excess  of  emotion.  She  made  her  way  through  the  group 
in  a  quick,  uncertain,  almost  tottering  way.  She  gained 
the  threshold  of  the  salon,  seeing  once  more,  with  failing 
eyes,  that  room,  as  she  had  dreamed  of  it  so  many  times. 
All  were  before  her — Court,  Queen,  King.  Yes.  Louis' 
eyes  met  hers,  and  held  them  for  an  instant.  She  must 
begin  the  advance  now.  But — but — this  pain — this  new, 
hideous,  torturing  pain — this  burning  of  her  throat — this 
frightful  thirst!  She  had  been  uncomfortable  for  an 
hour  past.  This  was  unendurable.  Walking — standing — 
were  impossible.  Her  clothes  pressed  her  as  though  they 
were  of  iron.  The  Court  stood  staring  at  her  hesitation. 


"  Vol-au-Vent   Royal"  399 

One  or  two  men  started  forward  a  little  as  if  to  go  to  her. 
Suddenly  from  her  lips  broke  a  harsh,  guttural  cry,  fol- 
lowed by  a  fainter  one — "  Au  secours !"  They  saw  her  try 
one  step.  Then,  as  the  sweat  of  agony  broke  out,  cold 
and  dripping,  over  her  whole  body,  she  sank,  in  a  reck- 
less heap,  down  upon  the  polished  floor. 


CHAPTER   XI 


Thy  Glory" 


EBORAH  lay  in  bed — thinking.  It  was  two 
hours  now  since  she  and  Claude,  with  the 
rest  of  the  frightened  Court,  had  received 
a  sharp  command  from  the  ushers  to  depart 
instantly  to  their  various  apartments,  in  the 
palace  or  out  of  it.  That  the  ushers'  voices  were  the 
echo  of  the  King's  was  beyond  doubt;  and  that  fact  was 
reason  sufficient  for  the  prompt  obedience  given  to  the 
bidding.  • 

Thus  Deborah,  like  every  other  witness  of  the  evening's 
sensation,  had  retired,  to  lie  wide  awake,  and  go,  over  and 
over  again,  through  the  little  chain  of  incidents  which 
had  passed  before  her  eyes.  Her  meditations  were  more 
involuntary,  less  purposive,  than  most,  however.  The 
sight  of  a  human  being  in  great  suffering  had  roused  in 
her  that  keen  instinct  which  had  lain  nearly  dormant  now 
for  so  many  months.  After  the  fall,  she  had  been  one  of 
the  first  to  reach  the  side  of  Claude's  cousin.  She  recalled 
the  press  of  fluttering  women  and  excited  men.  The 
King  himself  had  been  obliged  to  force  his  way  to  her. 
The  Queen,  supported  on  either  side  by  Mesdames  de 
Boufflers  and  de  Luynes,  remained  in  her  chair,  making 
frightened,  unanswered  inquiries  as  to  the  Duchess'  state. 
And  through  it  all  madame  had  lain  prostrate,  writhing 
and  shuddering,  in  her  long  velvet  robes.  It  was  finally 
Mirepoix,  with  d'Argenson,  white-lipped,  Maurepas,  very 
stern  and  still,  and  Marshal  Coigny,  who,  at  a  sign  from 
their  sovereign,  lifted  the  woman  from  the  floor  and  car- 
ried her  away  from  the  eager,  gaping  throng  to  her  own 


"Thy   Glory"  401 

rooms.  The  King,  having  despatched  two  messengers, 
one  for  Falconet,  the  other  for  Quesnay,  and  having  left 
the  whispered  command  with  the  ushers,  himself  departed 
after  la  Chateauroux,  taking  with  him  his  usual  com- 
panion in  all  things,  Richelieu.  Hereupon  followed  the  dis- 
persal of  the  Court,  and  here,  later,  was  where  the  recollec- 
tions and  meditations  of  the  common  courtiers  ended,  and 
only  a  fresh  beginning  could  be  made  and  gone  through, 
for  future  gossip  and  reference.  It  was  different  with 
Deborah.  Her  heated  brain  had  reflected  the  whole  ka- 
leidoscopic picture  in  a  flash,  as  a  single  impression,  again, 
and  once  again.  But  it  was  not  upon  small  incidents, 
the  acts  or  words  of  others,  that  her  later  imagination 
halted.  Instead,  she  was  reviewing,  moan  by  moan, 
shudder  by  shudder,  wild  look  and  desperate  closing  of 
the  eyes,  the  strange  illness  that  had  so  suddenly  seized 
the  woman  Claude  had  loved.  That  guttural  cry,  as  if 
the  throat  had  contracted  suddenly  —  the  fever -flush, 
visible  to  a  keen  gaze  beneath  the  rouge  —  the  growing 
dulness  of  the  eyes  that  contradicted  the  theory  of  natu- 
ral fever — the  incessant,  useless  retching — the  paroxysms 
that  had  wrung  a  groan  of  pity  from  Louis  himself — all 
these,  incomprehensible  to  those  about  her,  Deborah  had 
noted.  And  she  found  two  things,  two  little  points,  which 
seemed  to  convey,  as  out  of  some  past,  a  shred  of  memory, 
a  suggestion  that  she  had  been  witness  of  another  such 
struggle — somewhere — at  some  time.  The  first  fact  was 
that  la  Chateauroux,  as  the  pain,  after  a  second's  cessation, 
reat tacked  her  with  new  fury,  suddenly  threw  up  her  arms 
and  clutched,  with  stiffening  fingers,  at  the  air.  Secondly, 
just  after  this,  a  bright  sweat  broke  out  upon  her  forehead, 
and,  as  a  great  drop  rolled  down  her  face,  Deborah  saw  the 
body  quiver  as  if  with  cold. 

Such  things — where  had  she  seen  them  before?  Who 
was  it  that  had  passed  through  her  life  undergoing  such 
experience?  No  shadow  of  grief  clung  about  the  memory. 
No.  There  had  been  no  death,  then.  Who  had  been  with 
her  ?  Carroll !  Sambo !  The  amanita  muscaria  pitted 
26 


402        The  House   of  de  Mailly 

against  the  atropa  belladonna !  It  had  all  come  back  now. 
She  had  seen  the  symptoms  of  poisoning  by  the  deadly 
fungus  again,  here,  in  this  France.  She,  even  here,  pos- 
sessed the  means  of  saving  life  again,  perhaps;  if — if — if 
there  was  only  time! 

Simultaneously  with  that  last  thought  Deborah  leaped 
out  of  bed,  and,  holding  up  her  long  white  gown,  ran  swiftly 
through  her  quiet  boudoir  and  into  the  salon,  which  was, 
as  usual,  faintly  lighted  with  a  night-lantern.  Seizing 
this  from  the  table  where  it  stood,  she  opened  its  door, 
snuffed  the  candle  within  to  greater  brilliancy,  and  carried 
it  over  to  the  mantel-piece,  where  she  set  it  down.  An  in- 
stant more  and  the  cabinet  was  open  before  her.  Inside, 
in  their  even  rows,  stood  her  bottles  of  liquids,  and  near  them 
— near  them — the  box  of  amanita  muscaria.  Deborah's 
eyes  fell  instantly  upon  this  object.  Strangely  enough, 
the  thought  had  not  heretofore  struck  her  that  she  possessed 
some  of  these  things.  The  blood  around  her  heart  sud- 
denly grew  cold.  Who  was  it  that  had  seen  them  not 
three  days  ago?  Who  was  it  that  had  stood  beside  her 
here,  had  taken  that  box  down  from  its  place,  and  asked  her 
about  its  contents?  How  much  had  she  told  him  about 
them?  Had — could  he —  No !  Suspicion  was  carrying 
her  too  far.  The  thing  was  preposterous — impossible. 
Nevertheless,  with  a  hand  that  shook,  and  fingers  numb 
with  cold,  she  took  down  the  white  box.  In  it  there  had 
been — ten — of  the — things.  Now — she  must  look.  Could 
she?  Her  eyes,  that  should  have  sought  the  box,  were 
raised  for  a  moment.  She  saw  that  the  room  was  lighter. 
Behind  her  another  candle  burned.  She  faced  about. 
Then,  seeing  some  one  in  the  doorway,  Deborah's  over- 
wrought nerves  gave  way,  she  shuddered  convulsively, 
dropped  the  box  and  its  contents  to  the  floor,  put  both  hands 
pitifully  out  towards  the  figure,  and  swayed  where  she  stood. 
Claude  sprang  forward,  and  caught  her  just  in  time.  For 
a  moment  or  two  she  leaned  heavily  upon  him.  Placing 
his  light  upon  the  mantel  near  the  lantern,  and  taking  her 
in  both  arms,  he  carried  her  over  to  a  small  sofa  near  the 


"Thy   Glory"  403 

dark  window.  There,  smoothing  the  tangled,  half-pow- 
dered curls  back  from  her  face  and  neck,  and  taking  both 
the  cold  hands  in  his  to  chafe  warmth  back  to  them  again, 
he  asked,  gently : 

"  What  is  it,  Deborah?  What  is  the  matter?  What  were 
you  doing  here?" 

The  figure  in  his  arms  trembled  and  stiffened.  Deborah 
sat  up,  and  then  rose  to  her  feet.  Drawing  one  hand  away 
from  his,  she  put  it  over  her  eyes.  "Claude,"  she  said,  in 
a 'low  voice,  "pick  up  for  me  those — those  things  on  the 
floor  and  put  them  into  the  box.  Hunt  well — don't  let  any 
of  them  escape  you.  Then — tell  me — how  many — there — 
are." 

Claude  wondered,  looked  at  her  intently  for  a  moment, 
and  finally  obeyed  her  without  a  word.  He  picked  up  the 
small  black  objects  that  lay  about  the  box,  searching  the 
floor  carefully  to  get  them  all,  and  counting  them  as  he  re- 
placed them,  with  a  kind  of  interest. 

"Look  well,"  she  repeated.  "As  you  believe — in  God 
— do  not  miss  a  single  one!" 

"They  are  all  here." 

"How  many?" 

"Six." 

Silence  followed  that  word;  and  Claude,  watching  his 
wife,  could  not  see  that  a  muscle  in  her  body  moved.  Never- 
theless, he  dared  not  break  the  stillness.  When  she  spoke 
at  last,  it  was  in  a  normal  tone. 

"  Claude,  we  must  go  to  the  palace  at  once." 

" Child!     You  are  mad!     What  do  you  mean?" 

"Claude,  you  must  trust  me.  I  know  the  sickness  of 
your  cousin.  I  can — perhaps — save  her  life.  Come  with 
me  now,  at  once." 

"No." 

"Claude!    For  the  sake  of  mercy,  you  must  come!" 

Claude  de  Mailly  sent  towards  his  wife  a  glance  that  cut 
her  like  a  knife.  "  What  do  you  know  ?"  he  asked. 

"Everything." 

"Tell  me." 


404         The  House   of  de  Mailly 

"  No ;  I  cannot  do  that.  You  must  wait.  Mme.  de  Cha- 
teauroux  has  been  poisoned.  1  know  how — by  whom — but 
not  why.  By  making  me  wait,  you  are  killing  her.  Claude, 
you  love  her.  1  will  save  her  life  for  you.  Do  you  hear? 
1  will  save  the  woman  you  love !  Come ! " 

Claude  looked  about  him  feverishly.  "I  love  her!"  he 
muttered.  Then  aloud  he  asked :  "Who  was  it — that  tried 
—to  kill  her?" 

"Claude!     Claude!     Be  still!     Come  with  me!" 

Claude  de  Mailly  strode  over  to  his  wife's  side  and 
grasped  one  of  her  wrists  so  tightly  that  she  bit  her  lips 
with  pain. 

"Answer  me.     Who  was  it?    What  do  you  know?" 

Deborah  cast  at  him  a  look  which  had  in  it  a  kind  of  de- 
spair, but  which  held  neither  fear  nor  dread.  "You  will 
be  her  murderer  if  you  delay  longer.  Claude,  the  coma  will 
come.  We  shall  be  helpless  then.  Let  me  go — 1  am  going 
to  the  palace !" 

Claude  released  her  and  stepped  back.  Something  in  the 
expression  of  her  clear  eyes  had  brought  him  boundless  re- 
lief. There  was  no  guilt  in  her  face,  none  in  her  manner. 

"Dress  yourself.  1  will  go!"  he  said,  sharply;  and 
then,  after  seeing  her  fly  away  towards  her  room,  he  retreated 
to  his  own,  to  don  heavy  cloak,  hat,  and  rapier,  for  he  had 
not  yet  undressed  for  the  night.  When,  after  some  mo- 
ments, he  returned  to  the  salon,  his  wife,  in  her  heavy  p6- 
lisse  and  hood,  with  muff  under  her  arm,  was  standing  in 
front  of  the  still  open  cabinet,  looking  at  the  bottles  within. 
At  last,  from  among  them,  she  took  one  that  was  half  filled 
with  clear  liquid.  Fixing  its  cork  in  tightly,  she  slipped 
the  flask  into  her  muff,  and  turned  to  Claude. 

"  1  am  ready  now.     How  long  you  were!"  she  said. 

They  passed  together  out  of  their  rooms,  through  the 
dark  passage,  and  down  the  stairs.  It  was  scarcely  yet 
midnight.  The  front  doors  of  the  house  were  still  un- 
locked, and  the  concierge  was  just  reflecting  on  bed. 

"  How  shall  we  go?"  whispered  Deborah,  as  they  stepped 
into  the  frozen  night. 


"Thy    Glory"  405 

"  It  may  be  possible  to  find  a  coach.  Otherwise,  we  must 
walk." 

They  had  gone  but  twenty  yards  up  the  street  when, 
luckily  enough,  an  empty  vehicle,  which  had  just  left  a 
party  of  roystering  nobles  at  a  gambling  -  house,  came 
rattling  towards  them.  Claude  called  out  to  the  driver, 
who  stopped  on  hearing  his  voice. 

"  A  louis  d'or  if  you  get  us  to  the  palace  in  ten  minutes," 
cried  young  de  Mailly. 

The  coachman  opened  his  eyes.  "  We  shall  do  it  in  seven, 
Monseigneur,"  he  said,  eagerly. 

Claude  opened  the  door  and  Deborah  sprang  in  before 
him.  There  was  a  snap  of  the  whip,  a  plunge  of  the  horses, 
and  for  something  like  the  time  designated  they  fairly  flew 
through  the  darkness,  from  the  Rue  Royale  to  the  Avenue 
de  Sceaux,  and  down  St.  Miche  to  the  Boulevard  de  la 
Reine.  When  they  finally  crossed  the  second  Avenue  St. 
Antoine,  Claude  drew  a  deep  breath. 

"  We  are  nearly  there,"  he  said. 

In  another  moment  they  had  drawn  up  before  the  grand 
entrance  on  the  Court  of  Ministers. 

If  Claude  had  been  wise,  he  would  have  entered  the  palace 
by  the  chapel,  and  so  avoided  the  guards.  But  this  ad- 
venture was  not  of  his  planning.  Deborah's  desires  he 
could  only  conjecture,  for  she  had  not  spoken  during  the 
drive.  Therefore,  tossing  the  coachman  his  golden  coin, 
he  helped  his  wife  from  the  coach,  and  with  her  entered  the 
great  vestibule,  which  was  filled  with  Suisses  and  extra 
King's  guards.  These  saluted  respectfully  enough  as  the 
couple  entered  the  doorway ;  but,  when  Claude  proceeded 
towards  the  staircase,  a  musqueteer  barred  his  way. 

"  Your  order,  monsieur?"  he  said,  respectfully. 

"My  order?    I  have  nonel" 

"  It  is  not  permitted  to  pass  without,  to-night.  His  Maj- 
esty's commands,  monsieur,"  said  the  man. 

Claude  turned  to  his  wife.     "You  hear?"  he  said. 

For  answer,  Deborah  herself  turned  towards  the  soldier. 
"We  may  wait  here — in  the  vestibule?"  she  asked 


406         The  House  of  de  Mailly 

"Certainly,  madame,"  answered  the  guard,  at  once  mov- 
ing out  of  the  way. 

Claude  and  Deborah  turned  reluctantly  and  walked 
towards  the  other  side  of  the  great  vestibule.  As  they 
went  Claude  accosted  another  member  of  the  royal  guard. 
"My  good  man,  1  am  a  cousin  of  Mme.  de  Chateauroux. 
We  come  on  a  matter  of  the  greatest  importance.  Will 
you  not  permit  us  to  ascend?" 

The  man  stared  at  them  keenly,  with  a  kind  of  smile. 
"Mme.  de  Chateauroux  is  not  in  the  palace,"  said  he. 

Deborah  looked  aghast.  "  Not  in  the  palace!"  she  mur- 
mured. 

"Sh!  It  is  the  usual  method.  It  means  nothing.  She 
is  here.  Listen,  Deborah;  1  am  going  to  ask  Michot, 
yonder,  whom  1  know  very  well,  if  you  may  retire  to  the 
little  chambre-a-manteaux  to  wait.  From  there  we  can 
get  into  a  passage  which  will  take  us  to  the  little  stair- 
case. Remain  here  for  a  moment." 

Deborah  watched  him  go  towards  a  Suisse,  who  addressed 
him  by  title  as  he  approached.  She  perceived  that  he 
thrust  something  into  the  man's  hand,  and,  when  he  re- 
turned to  her  side,  it  was  with  relief  in  his  face.  "That 
was  better/'  he  whispered.  "Come  now — here." 

He  drew  her  hurriedly  into  a  narrow  room  off  the  vesti- 
bule, and  from  there,  three  minutes  later,  through  a  small, 
panelled  door  that  led  into  the  south  wing  of  the  palace. 
Here  they  were  safely  beyond  the  provinces  of  guards; 
and,  after  passing  through  a  long  series  of  dimly  lighted 
rooms,  they  came  presently  upon  a  small  staircase  just 
off  what  is  now  the  Cour  de  la  Surintendance.  Up  one 
flight  of  these,  through  two  deserted  rooms  and  a  short 
hallway  at  the  end  of  the  King's  state  apartments,,  and 
they  halted  before  a  tapestried  door. 

"This  is  her  antechamber,"  said  Claude. 

Deborah  put  out  her  hand  and  pushed  it  open.  They 
entered.  The  room  was  brightly  lighted,  but  empty. 

"The  boudoir,"  muttered  de  Mailly.  He  hurried  across 
the  room  to  another  door,  Deborah  close  at  his  heels.  It 


"Thy   Glory" 407 

was  he  who  opened  this.  As  they  crossed  the  threshold 
of  the  Persian-hung  room  they  faced  two  people,  a  man 
and  a  woman — Antoinette  Crescot  and  his  Grace  de 
Richelieu. 

"Madame!" 

Claude  had  never  heard  so  strange  an  intonation  from 
his  friend's  lips.  He  saw  his  wife  start  nervously  and 
stand  perfectly  still,  while  the  King's  gentleman  took 
two  or  three  steps  backward  towards  the  door  which 
led  into  the  bedroom.  Silence  followed  the  exclamation. 
Antoinette,  the  maid,  astonished  at  this  appearance  of 
the  young  man  whom  she  had  once  known  so  well,  together 
with  a  companion,  a  woman,  whom  she  had  never  seen, 
dared  not,  by  reason  of  her  place,  voice  curiosity.  She 
whom  Richelieu  had  addressed  simply  as  madame  re- 
mained as  if  petrified,  her  large  grayish  eyes  burning  into 
Richelieu's,  her  face  colorless,  her  expression  inscrutable. 
And  the  Duke's  eyes  shifted — a  thing  that  no  one  had  ever 
seen  before — shifted  from  Deborah's  feet  to  her  face,  from 
her  to  Claude,  and  then  stared  away  at  nothing,  while 
his  white  hands  were  clenched,  and  his  graceful  body 
stiffened.  Finally,  after  uncomfortable  minutes,  Claude 
lifted  his  hand  and  pointed. 

"Marie  Anne  is  there?"  he  asked. 

Richelieu  drew  back  yet  more  closely  against  the  door. 
"No  one — is  permitted  to  enter,"  he  said,  in  a  low,  dogged 
voice. 

His  tone  seemed  to  break  the  spell  under  which  Debo- 
rah had  been  standing.  "1  will  enter  !"  she  said,  moving 
swiftly  towards  him. 

Du  Plessis  did  not  stir. 

"Let  me  pass,"  she  whispered. 

"By  what  right,  madame?  Have  you  his  Majesty's 
order?" 

"Let  me  pass!"  she  repeated,  lower  than  before. 

"Why?" 

For  answer  she  looked  straight  into  his  eyes;  but  he, 
though  every  muscle  in  his  body  quivered,  steadily  held 


408         The  House   of  de  Mailly 

his  own.  Then  she  said,  rapidly:  "I  can  save  her  life 
if  only — there  is  time." 

Thereupon,  a  little  more  stubbornly,  a  little  more  relent- 
lessly, he  shrank  against  the  door. 

Deborah  drew  a  sharp  breath,  and  suddenly  seized  both 
his  large  white  wrists  with  her  own  hands.  For  an  in- 
stant, by  reason  of  the  suddenness  of  her  move,  it  seemed 
as  though  he  must  yield.  With  an  effort  he  regained 
his  equilibrium;  and  then  all  the  strength  which  despera- 
tion might  have  put  into  her  could  not  have  moved  him 
one  inch. 

"Deborah,  what  are  you  doing?"  came  Claude's  clear, 
sharp  voice. 

"  Claude — help  me  ! — 1  must  pass  that  door.  1  must 
— 1  will  pass  that  door  !  Help  me  !" 

Claude  gazed  at  his  wife  as  though  she  had  gone  de- 
mented; and  Antoinette,  also  astounded,  stepped  forward. 
"Pardon,  madame,  but  his  Majesty  is  in  that  room,  to- 
gether with  the  doctors,  Mme.  de  Flavacourt,  and  Pere 
Segand.  Monsieur  le  Due  had  orders  to  allow  none  to 
pass  to-night." 

This  explanation  had  apparently  no  effect  upon  Mme. 
de  Mailly.  For  a  bare  instant  she  turned  to  look  at  the 
girl,  and  then  shook  her  head  impatiently.  "1  tell  you 
1  can  save  the  life  of  Mme.  de  Chateauroux.  I  am  the  only 
person  who  can  do  so,  for  only  I — " 

Suddenly  she  stopped.  The  door  opened  from  the  in- 
side. Richelieu  straightened  himself  and  stepped  forward, 
as  out  of  the  bedroom  came  a  man,  tall  and  stoutish, 
in  square  wig  and  loose  black  suit  which  made  him  appear 
old.  This  was  Quesnay.  Closing  the  door  behind  him, 
he  stood  looking  in  some  astonishment  at  the  new-comers. 
Presently  recognizing  Claude,  however,  he  bowed  slightly. 
Claude  returned  the  salute ;  and  no  one  stirred  as  the  doctor 
crossed  the  room  and  flung  himself  upon  a  chair  with  the 
manner  of  one  who  has  made  up  his  mind  on  an  important 
point.  It  was  Richelieu,  who,  after  a  doubtful  glance  at 
Deborah,  asked,  gently:  "She  is — worse?" 


"Thy   Glory"  409 

Quesnay  hesitated.  Then,  with  a  shrug,  he  replied, 
gruffly:  "She's  lost.  1  say  so.  She's  lost.  That  fool 
Falconet — would  continue  his  insane  bleedings  and  cup- 
pings. He  no  more  knows  her  sickness  than  1  do.  Let 
her  rest  in  peace  now,  say  1 — 'till  the  end." 

Despite  his  abrupt  phrases,  there  was  a  good  deal  of 
feeling  in  Quesnay's  voice;  for  the  Duchess  had  been  his 
friend.  He  now  turned  his  back  on  the  little  party,  and 
strode  over  to  one  of  the  windows,  where  he  stood  looking 
into  the  black  gulf  of  the  Court  of  Marble,  below.  So  for 
many  minutes  no  one  within  the  room  spoke ;  no  one  moved. 
The  silence  was  finally  broken  by  the  reopening  of  the 
bedroom  door.  This  time  it  was  Louis  of  France  who 
left  the  bedroom  of  the  dying  woman.  He  entered  the 
boudoir  with  head  bent,  brows  knitted,  one  hand  nervously 
brushing  his  forehead,  the  other  hanging  limp  at  his  side ; 
and  no  one  had  ever  before  beheld  the  expression  that 
now  rested  upon  his  face.  To  Deborah  he  looked  in  some 
way  more  kingly;  to  the  rest  he  was  more  human,  older, 
more  cognizant  than  before  of  the  deep  under-life  of  things 
and  of  people.  As  for  him,  if  he  beheld  the  new-comers  in 
the  room,  he  evinced  no  surprise  at  their  presence,  nor  had 
he  taken  any  notice  of  the  reverent  lowering  of  heads  as 
he  came  among  them. 

"Richelieu,  go  to  the  little  apartments  and  bring  back 
with  you  Bachelier,  Maurepas,  and  Marc  Antoine  d'Ar- 
genson.  Speak  to  no  others  if  you  can  possibly  avoid  it. 
If  forced,  you  will  say  that  the  Duchess  of  Chateauroux 
is  not  in  the  palace." 

Richelieu  bowed  low.  Nothing  could  have  expressed 
his  secret  terror  at  leaving  that  room,  which  contained  Deb- 
orah de  Mailly  and  the  King,  together  —  with  none  to 
prevent  her  speaking  if  she  would.  Nevertheless,  he 
departed  on  his  errand  without  protest.  After  the  exit 
Louis  seated  himself  in  the  chair  that  Quesnay  had  left, 
his  head  bowed  on  his  hands,  his  attitude  precluding  any 
idea  of  speech  on  the  part  of  any  one  present.  Thus  the 
four — Quesnay,  Claude,  Antoinette  Crescot,  and  Deborah — 


410        The    House   of   de  Mailly 

stood  there  for  ten  long  minutes  about  their  master,  like 
him  waiting  for  Richelieu's  return. 

When  the  Duke  re-entered  the  apartment,  Bachelier  was 
alone  with  him.  Maurepas  and  d'Argenson,  neither  of 
them  dressed,  were  to  follow  presently.  On  seeing  his 
valet,  the  King  beckoned  the  little  man  to  his  side,  whispered 
to  him  inaudibly  for  several  seconds,  and  then  dismissed 
him  on  some  errand.  Just  without,  in  the  antechamber, 
Bachelier  encountered  the  two  ministers.  There  was  no 
speech  between  them,  but  looks,  in  a  Court,  are  capa- 
ble of  astonishing  development.  When  Maurepas  and 
d'Argenson  appeared  in  the  Persian  boudoir  they  were 
prepared  for  many  things.  Neither  made  any  sign  at 
sight  of  Claude  and  Deborah.  The  King,  bowed  and 
deeply  troubled,  was  before  them,  in  his  chair.  After  the 
salute  there  was  a  short  silence,  which  Louis,  with  an  effort, 
broke : 

"  Gentlemen,  we  shall  have  need  of  you — later.  Mean- 
time you  will  remain  in  this  room.  While  you  are  here 
we  forbid  you  in  any  way  to  address  any  of  those  about 
you.  And  upon  those  who  have,  we  know  not  how,  been 
admitted  here,  we  also  impose  silence.  Hereafter  this  night 
must  be  by  all  of  you  forgotten.  Any  violation  of  my  com- 
mand will  mean  —  understand  well,  messieurs  and  mes- 
dames — will  mean — imprisonment — for  life." 

With  these  final  words  the  King,  after  glancing  sol- 
emnly around  the  semicircle  of  mute  figures,  rose  slowly 
and  moved  towards  the  bedroom  door.  As  he  opened  it 
all  behind  him  saw  Falconet,  the  royal  physician,  turn 
and  face  his  Majesty,  whispering  something.  Louis 
started  back  for  a  second,  and  covered  his  face  with  his 
hands.  Then,  turning  about,  he  raised  one  hand  in  a  sum- 
mons that  was  understood  by  all  those  who  stood  in  the 
adjoining  room.  The  little  party  moved  forward  into 
the  sleeping -chamber  of  her  who  had  ruled  Versailles. 
Maurepas  and  d'Argenson  stood  aside  for  Deborah  and 
her  husband  to  enter;  then  they  followed,  with  Quesnay 
behind.  Antoinette  Crescot,  waiting  to  be  last,  saw 


"Thy   Glory"  411 

Richelieu,  whose  face  had  grown  ghastly  white,  falter  to 
the  threshold  of  the  door.  There  he  stopped,  hesitating, 
struggling  with  himself.  Finally,  with  an  effort  that 
cost  him  all  that  remained  of  his  nerve  force,  he  stepped 
quickly  into  the  bedroom  and  halted  just  inside,  his  back 
to  the  wall.  Antoinette,  who  had  sent  one  glittering  look, 
like  a  dart,  through  the  man  in  front  of  her,  followed  him 
into  the  bedroom,  and  passed  him,  as  he  stopped  beside 
the  wall. 

Around  the  great  bed  of  the  third  of  the  de  Nesle  sisters 
stood  those  who  had  just  entered  into  that  room,  the  spell 
of  the  hour,  the  nickering  candle-light,  and  the  terrible 
scene  before  them  weaving  a  spell  of  slow  fear  about  them 
all.  The  heavy  velvet  bed-curtains  had  long  ago  been 
pulled  down,  to  give  madame  air  in  her  agony.  Up  near 
the  pillows,  to  the  left,  her  face  hidden  in  her  hands,  utterly 
exhausted  with  the  horror  of  what  she  had  seen,  knelt 
Mme.  de  Flavacourt.  At  the  other  side  was  Pere  Segand, 
the  confessor,  who  had  administered  the  last  sacrament 
two  hours  before.  Beside  him  stood  Quesnay's  superior, 
M.  Falconet.  Directly  behind  was  the  King,  his  eyes, 
like  those  of  the  rest,  fixed  upon  the  face  of  the  woman 
he  had  loved. 

Marie  Anne  de  Mailly-Nesle  lay  rigid  on  her  bed.  Her 
golden  hair,  shaken  free  from  powder  in  the  last  four  hours, 
framed,  in  shining  waves,  her  face.  That  face!  Dusky, 
wrinkled,  gray;  the  eyes,  half -open,  catching  the  candle- 
light, and  glittering,  glassy  black,  beneath  their  frozen 
lids;  the  shapeless  lips,  two  drawn,  gray  lines,  from  be- 
neath the  upper  of  which  the  white  teeth  peered  forth; 
was  this  visage  that  which  once  had  been  the  peerless 
countenance  of  the  most  superb  woman  of  her  time?*  And 
one  thing  more  there  was,  which  seemed  a  mark  put  on  her 
by  some  master  will  to  stamp  the  life  which  she  had  led 
unmistakably  on  her  in  death.  Below  the  left  corner  of 

*  Description  taken  from  a  medical  report  of  the  coma  produced  by 
the  amanita  muscaria. 


412        The  House   of  de  Mailly 

her  mouth,  unloosened  in  her  life-struggles,  was  a  black 
patch,  cut  in  the  shape  of  a  crescent,  named  by  the  Court 
fop  who  had  originated  it,  the  "  coquette." 

And  so,  through  these  December  midnight  hours,  the 
little  circle  remained  about  that  bed,  gazing,  in  tremulous 
fascination,  at  what  lay  before  them.  Maurepas  knew, 
now,  why  they  had  been  admitted  here.  Who,  ever  after, 
would  voluntarily  gossip  of  such  a  scene  as  this?  Who 
would  willingly  recall  it  to  memory?  Prudent- wise  with 
a  terrible  wisdom  was  this  King  of  theirs  become !  Maure- 
pas, standing  here,  recalled,  even  as  Claude  was  doing, 
another  death  which  had  taken  place  in  this  palace  of  Ver- 
sailles: that  of  little  Pauline  Felicit6  de  Vintimille,  sister 
of  this  woman,  seventeen  years  old,  a  mother,  who  had 
also  left  her  bright  world  behind  because  of  the  unhallowed 
infatuation  of  the  unapproachable  man  who  stood  here 
now — Louis  Bourbon,  King  of  France. 

Long,  endlessly  long,  was  the  train  of  hapless  recollec- 
tions called  up  by  this  scene;  and  when  at  last  a  whis- 
per fell  upon  the  silence,  its  words  were  an  echo  of  other 
thoughts.  Antoinette  Crescot,  forgetting  everything  save 
the  unknowable  face  of  her  former  mistress,  muttered, 
softly,  half  to  herself,  "Is  she  dead?" 

And  in  the  room  six,  like  her,  waited  for  some  reply. 
It  came;  not  from  the  lips  of  Quesnay  or  of  Falconet,  but 
as  an  articulate  breath  from  Deborah  de  Mailly,  "Not 
yet — not  yet — but  soon." 

Again  the  silence  and  the  chilling  spell,  to  be  broken, 
this  time,  by  the  voice  of  the  little  golden  clock  from  the 
mantel  across  the  room.  Two  strokes  rang  out.  The 
winter  dawn  was  yet  many  hours  away.  Then,  as  if  she 
had  been  waiting  for  a  sound,  the  corpse-like  figure  on  the 
bed  suddenly,  without  apparent  effort,  sat  up.  The  sight- 
less eyes  opened  and  were  turned  towards  him  whose  scene 
this  was.  Louis  shuddered  under  the  look.  Mme.  de 
Chateauroux  stretched  out  her  gray  lips  in  a  long,  slow 
smile.  Then,  in  the  voice  of  one  speaking  from  the 
hereafter,  she  said,  audibly,  with  uncanny  lack  of  ex- 


"Thy    Glory"  413 

pression,  "Thou — knowest  —  if — I  have — wished — thy — 
glory." 

It  was  the  end.  Pere  Se'gand  caught  the  body  as  it  fell, 
and  laid  it  gently  upon  the  pillow  and  sheet.  Then,  high 
over  her,  he  raised  the  crucifix  that  hung  suspended  from 
his  waist.  Those  in  the  room  sank  to  their  knees.  Mme. 
de  Flavacourt's  sobs  were  the  only  ones  heard.  Minutes 
passed,  and  Deborah  felt  hot  drops  from  her  eyes  trickle 
slowly  down  her  clasped  hands  and  fall  to  the  floor.  Then 
came  to  her  ears  the  tones  of  a  hard,  monotonous  voice, 
in  which  all  tears  had  long  since  been  petrified  to  stone. 

"Mesdames  and  messieurs — you  have  not  witnessed 
the — death — of  Mme.  de  Chateauroux;  for  Mme.  de  Cha- 
teauroux  has  not  been  in  Versailles  since  the  month  of 
June.  Mme.  de  Chateauroux  died  four  days  ago,  on  the 
morning  of  the  4th  of  December,  in  Paris,  at  her  hdtel  in 
the  Rue  du  Bac — of — a — malignant — fever."* 

It  was  the  voice  of  a  King ;  and  of  such  was  the  glory  of 
Versailles. 

*  Historians  differ  as  to  the  date  of  the  death  of  the  Duchess  of 
Chateauroux.  It  occurred  upon  either  the  4th  or  the  8th  of  December, 
1744,  how  or  where  has  never  been  definitely  known. 


CHAPTER   XII 

One  More  de  Mailly? 

fENRI — Henri — why  are  you  questioning  me? 
I  know  nothing !  Mon  Dieu  I  I  know  less 
than  nothing!" 

Claude  and  his  cousin  sat  together  in 
the  Marquis'  salon  in  the  Hotel  de  Mailly. 
Before  them,  on  a  table,  were  various  liqueurs  and  some 
untasted  cakes.  The  two  young  men  had  returned  from 
a  visit  to  the  Ursuline  convent  in  the  old  city,  where  lived 
and  repented  Henri's  sister,  Claude's  sister-in-law,  Louise 
Julie  de  Mailly,  once  queen  of  the  little  apartments  in 
Versailles.  Four  days  ago  the  funeral  of  la  Chateau- 
roux  had  taken  place,  with  quiet  unostentation,  in  the  Rue 
du  Bac,  the  body  being  carried  to  St.  Cyr.  Henri  and 
Claude  were  now  in  black,  though  their  period  of  mourn- 
ing, according  to  Court  etiquette,  could  last  but  a  short 
time. 

The  Marquis  sipped  his  cordial  tentatively.  "Claude/' 
said  he,  after  the  pause  which  had  followed  his  cousin's 
foregoing  exclamations,  "  we  have  not  been  much  together 
since  you  came  home." 

"  No.  Of  course,  it  is  very  different  from  the  old  days. 
One  is  so  much  more  bound  when  one  is  married." 

"I  have  not  found  it  so,"  was  the  dry  response. 

"Oh  —  but  you  married  into  a  French  family  of  our 
station.  Naturally,  Madame  la  Marquise  conformed  more 
easily  to  our  customs  than — Deborah." 

"And  yet,"  said  Henri,  contemplating  a  panel,  "yet 
the  Countess  has  not  been  backward  in  comprehending 
the  forms.  Do  you  think  so?" 


One   More   de  Mailly?  415 

Claude's  face  flushed  quickly.  "What  do  you  mean?" 
he  asked,  playing  nervously  with  his  glass. 

Henri's  eyes  fell  from  the  picture  and  sought  his  cousin's 
face.  His  look  was  very  kindly,  but  he  made  no  reply  to 
Claude's  question. 

"What  do  you  mean?  Do  not  hide  from  me  what  you 
know.  We  have  been  as  brothers  always.  Nom  de 
Dieu,  Henri,  speak!" 

The  Marquis  perceived  Claude's  great  agitation  with 
some  surprise.  Emotion  from  Claude  was  not  usual. 
"What  shall  I  say?"  he  asked,  quietly. 

"The  tnith  about  Deborah.  What  do  you  hear  about 
Deborah?" 

Henri  passed  a  hand  over  his  forehead  before  he  said, 
slowly  and  with  weariness:  "What  one  hears  of  —  most 
women." 

"Ah!"  The  exclamation  was  like  a  sharp  cry.  Henri 
had  a  glimpse  of  Claude's  face  grown  very  white,  and  then 
Claude's  head  sank  forward  till  it  rested  on  the  table,  en- 
circled by  both  arms. 

The  Marquis  sat  and  looked  for  a  little  on  the  bowed  fig- 
ure. Then  he  rose  gently,  moved  to  his  cousin's  side,  and 
laid  a  hand  upon  the  black  shoulder.  "  Forgive  me,  Claude ; 
forgive  me.  It  was  brutal.  It  is  probably  untrue.  Gossip 
from  the  (Eil  -  de  -  Boeuf !  Who  credits  that?  Claude — 
Claude—" 

Claude  shook  his  shoulders  impatiently.  Then  he  sat 
up  again,  ashamed  of  having  betrayed  his  feelings.  The 
line  of  his  lips  grew  hard.  "  No,  it  is  true,"  he  said,  harsh- 
ly. "  The  King  means  her  for  the  next ;  while  I — I — the 
fool — I  love!  llove!  1  love!" 

"  Ah,  yes — so  do  we  all.  But  'tis  not  worth  what  we  give 
for  it.  I  am  growing  older,  Claude.  I  see  many  things 
differently  from  what  I  did  in  youth.  I  should  deeply  re- 
joice at  peace,  honesty,  fidelity,  truth;  but,  since  those 
things  are  not,  and  cannot  be,  I  am  satisfied  with  what 
I  have  —  money,  life,  clothes,  wines,  dinners,  a  good 
bed,  and  a  man  who  really  knows  how  to  prepare 


416         The  House    of  de  Mailly 

_«B^^HB»*^^B^HV     ^™«B— ^  — ^"•^^^^^—•^^•••—•i^^^-^^— •—••••••^^^^^^^— ^^^^^™««««i^«»— ^— — — ^™»        .»» 

perfect  snuff.  1  let  women  alone.  1  am  wiser  than 
you." 

Claude  looked  sharply  at  his  cousin.  Certainly,  if  this 
were  his  creed,  he  was  changed.  The  words  and  tone,  how- 
ever, served  for  the  moment  to  still  his  own  growing  dis- 
quietude. He  leaned  dully  back  in  his  chair.  "  1  should 
like  to  go  down  for  a  week  or  two  to  my  estate — to  Lan- 
guedoc — if  1  dared  leave,"  he  observed.  "It  is  an  entire 
year  since  I  was  there." 

"  I  went  in  July.  They  were  doing  well  with  it.  Take 
madame,  Claude,  and  live  there  for  a  month  or  two.  It 
would  be  an  idea." 

"In  all  the  cold?  With  a  wolf -pack  between  us  and 
every  neighbor?  Peste!  What  are  you  dreaming  of?  We 
should  die.  No.  Some  time  Henri — some  time,  soon, 
now,  when  Versailles  has  become  unbearable  to  me,  I  shall 
sell  my  ancestral  possessions  in  la  belle  France,  and  with 
the  proceeds  I  will  sail  away,  over  seas,  to  King  George's 
colonies,  perhaps ;  and  there  take  up  my  abode  among  the 
good  colonials,  in  the  honorable  capacity  of  tobacco-plant- 
er; a  king  in  my  own  right,  my  plantation  the  kingdom, 
and  the  serfs  all  of  ebony  hue ;  with  an  overseer  for  intimate, 
and — not  a  little  apartment  in  all  my  red  brick  palace." 

Claude  spoke  half  bitterly,  half  in  jest.  To  his  aston- 
ishment, Henri  answered,  seriously :  "  That  would  not  be 
an  unwise  plan.  When  you  wish  to  carry  it  out,  I — will 
buy  the  estate  from  you." 

De  Mailly  laughed  shortly.  "  Well,  I  return  to  Versailles 
to-night.  1  must  leave  you  presently." 

"  1  am  sorry.  I  should  have  liked  to  keep  you  here  for 
the  night." 

"  A  thousand  thanks.     It  is  impossible. " 

"  Before  you  go,  tell  me  something  of  the  Court.  What 
occurs?  How  is  the  King?  What  is — said  of  the  death?" 

De  Mailly  rose  and  began  to  pace  the  room.  He  did  not 
speak  at  once,  but,  after  a  thoughtful  pause,  began,  so- 
berly :  "  I  have  not  been  at  the  palace  till  yesterday  since 
the  night  —  of  her  death.  Yesterday  Deborah  and  I  were 


One    More   de   Mailly?  417 

in  the  (Eil-de-Boeuf  for  fifteen  minutes.  It  was  extremely 
dull.  Only  such  creatures  as  old  Pont-de-Vesle,  la  Vau- 
guyon,  Charost,  two  or  three  petty  Chevaliers,  and  some  of 
the  Queen's  women  were  there.  His  Majesty  has  not  ap- 
peared, even  in  the  circle  of  the  Queen,  of  an  evening,  since. 
Marie  Anne  is  never  spoken  of.  She  is  forbidden  as  a 
topic.  You  know — they  say — she  died  here,  in  Paris.  All 
the  journals  —  d'Argenson's,  the  Boufflers5,  Maurepas', 
de  Luynes' —  as  many  as  were  known  —  were  examined, 
and  the  entries  changed.  I  had  that  from  Coigny.  The 
Nouvelles  a  la  Main  for  the  week  was  suppressed.  In  the 
next,  it  is  said,  there  will  be  an  officially  'authentic'  ac- 
count. Berryer  or  Maurepas,  of  course,  will  write  it. 
Richelieu  has  gone  away  for  a  time — on  what  business  no 
one  knows.  It  is  not  for  the  King ;  for  it  seems  that  d'Ar- 
genson  has  written  him,  at  royal  command,  that  his  Majesty 
misses  him  frightfully.  Of  course,  there  are  a  thousand 
conjectures,  one  as  absurd  as  another.  I  have  heard  that 
he  was  going  to  marry.  Meantime  the  younger  women 
of  the  Court  are  preparing  fresh  and  elaborate  costumes. 
You  know  what  the  struggle  will  be.  But — but — " 

"Why,  then,  are  you  fearing  for  your  little  Countess?" 

"1  —  cannot  tell.  1  see  her  looked  at,  whispered  after, 
sought  by  men,  shunned  by  women.  Her  invitations  to 
suppers,  to  the  Opera,  the  Francais,  are  numberless.  I, 
Henri,  am  not  included  in  them.  Mordi!  1  will  not 
think !  Next  month  the  King  must  wake  from  his  lethargy 
for  the  marriage  of  the  dauphin." 

"Ah,  yes!     The  Infanta  will  soon  be  leaving  Madrid." 

"  She  is  expected  to  arrive  here  by  the  day  of  the  feast  of 
the  Conversion  of  St.  Paul." 

"The 25th,  then." 

Claude  nodded.  "  They  say  Monseigneur  is  busy  learn- 
ing mottoes  for  her,  and — it  is  not  pretty — practising  for 
the  abominable  night  ceremony  with  Pere  GrifTet  as  the 
bride." 

Henri  burst  into  a  laugh,  in  which  Claude,  after  an  in- 
stant, joined. 
27 


418        The  House   of  de  Mailly 

"  Well,  then,  1  will  part  from  you  in  laughter,  after  all. 
Good-bye — or,  au  revoir,  cousin.  Come  to  us  when  thou 
canst/' 

Claude  seized  cloak  and  hat,  and  hurried  towards  the  door. 
Henri  followed  him.  They  clasped  hands  in  silence. 
Claude  sent  a  deep  look  into  his  cousin's  eyes.  The  Mar- 
quis smiled,  bitterly.  "  Were  1  you,  Claude,  my  friend,  I 
should  trust  the  wife.  She — has  honest  eyes." 

This  same  afternoon  was  spent  dully  enough  by  Debo- 
rah, who  sat  for  two  hours  in  her  salon,  drinking  tea  and 
being  entertained  by  a  somewhat  incompatible  couple,  ar- 
rived together  by  chance,  and  remaining  through  perverse- 
ness — M.  de  Bernis  and  the  Due  de  Gevres. 

These  were  exciting  days  for  the  fertile-minded  abb6. 
The  imminent  danger  of  the  reaccession  of  la  Chateauroux 
had  not  troubled  him,  because  he  had  known  nothing  of  it 
till  all  was  over.  Just  now  his  curiosity  on  that  subject 
was  insatiable.  But,  had  it  been  never  so  moderate,  it 
must  have  starved  outright  in  the  end,  for  nothing  from 
any  one  could  he  learn.  To  every  question,  subtle  or 
frank,  the  inevitable,  instantaneous  reply  was  given: 
"  Madame  la  Duchesse  died  in  her  hdtel  in  Paris  of  malig- 
nant fever,  on  December  4th  —  or  8th — whichever  day  he 
pleased." 

"But — mordi!"  stammered  the  bewildered  Francois  to 
old  Pont  -de  -  Vesle,  "  they  say  that  on  the  jih  she  was  at 
Choisy;  that  the  King— " 

"Chut!  Then  it  must  have  been  on  the  8th,  dear 
abbe,"  was  the  lean  and  grinning  response.  "And  let  me 
suggest,  monsieur,  that  you  do  not  discuss  the  matter  with 
imprudent  ones.  There  have  been  whispers  of  Bastille  for 
those  who  waste  too  much  breath — in  speech." 

And  Pont-de- Vesle,  delighted  at  being  able  to  mystify 
some  one  as  much  as  he  himself  was  mystified,  leisurely 
took  snuff  and  turned  away. 

De  Bernis,  thus  warned,  grasped  enough  of  the  situation 
to  keep  him  out  of  difficulties.  Meantime,  all  doubt  about 
the  future  of  some  new  favorite  being  now  removed,  he  em- 


One   More   de  Mailly?  419 

ployed  himself  during  the  days  of  the  royal  retirement  in 
a  most  thoughtful  manner.  He  visited  the  Comtesse  de 
Mailly  at  her  own  apartment  with  some  frequency.  This 
was  in  great  measure  the  result  of  the  conversation  of  the 
snuff-boxes  on  the  evening  of  M.  Vauvenargues'  salon. 
If  Richelieu  himself  considered  Mme.  Deborah  so  emi- 
nently qualified  for  the  post,  she  was  certainly  a  person  to 
be  treated  with  consideration.  The  abbe  might  be,  with 
prophetic  instinct,  rather  stubborn  in  his  ideas  concerning 
Mine.  d'Etioles,  to  whom  he  clung  loyally ;  but  he  was  none 
the  less  broad-minded  enough  to  be  very  thankful  for  two 
new  strings  to  his  bow. 

The  old  string,  the  first  which  he  had  used  at  Court,  that 
which  had  shot  his  first  keen  arrow  into  an  inner  circle  of 
the  great  Court  target,  had  become  unsafe  now,  frayed  at 
the  ends.  He  dared  use  it  but  little.  He  felt  that  it  kept 
him  from  trying  his  real  strength.  He  was  tired  of  treating 
it  with  care.  He  meditated  on  how  he  should  take  it  off 
the  wood  and  throw  it  entirely  away.  Some  day,  not  far 
distant,  that  must  be  done.  Yet,  as  the  cord  had  served  him 
long  and  faithfully,  and  he  had  once  been  very  proud  of  it, 
perhaps  some  touch  of  sentiment,  rather  than  a  wish  of 
appearing  freshly  equipped  at  just  the  right  moment  in  the 
contest,  prompted  him  still  to  hesitate  in  being  rid  of  it. 

Poor  little  Victorine!  These  days  of  hers  had  become 
endlessly  forlorn.  Her  face  grew  pale  and  pinched.  She 
lost  the  piquant,  fretful  prettiness  that  had  been  hers  a 
year  ago.  A  year  ago  she  had  not  yet  lived.  Now — she 
had  lived  too  long.  After  that  first  meeting  with  de  Bernis 
in  her  woman's  dress,  had  followed  eight  months  of  fierce, 
golden  happiness,  as  beautiful  to  her  as  they  were  wrong. 
Then,  with  the  first,  faintest  suspicion  of  weariness  on  his 
part,  the  first  breath  of  fear,  of  unhappiness,  crept  over  her. 
Its  growth  had  been  gradual.  It  was  none  the  less  sure. 
From  the  beginning  Mme.  de  Coigny  had  been  very  quiet 
about  her  love.  Now  she  was  still  more  quiet  in  her  growing 
misery.  She  spoke  of  it  to  no  one,  least  of  all  to  the  abb£. 
But  he  was  not  so  blind  as  to  be  unaware  that  the  misery 


420         The  House   of  de  Mailly 

was  there ;  and  the  knowledge  was  not  pleasant  to  him.  He 
was  acting  according  to  the  strongest  quality  of  his  nature 
— ambition.  Nevertheless,  there  were  occasional  rebellions 
from  the  side  of  humanity  that  caused  him  sleepless 
nights  and  wearisome  days.  At  such  times  he  would, 
perhaps,  spend  a  morning  at  Victorine's  side.  But  the  af- 
ternoon was  sure  to  find  him,  conscience  appeased,  either 
on  his  way  to  the  chateau  of  Senart  or  to  the  apartment 
in  the  Rue  d'Anjou. 

The  dull  December  days  passed,  and  Christmas  week, 
with  its  religious  festivities,  drew  near.  The  Court  roused 
itself  into  interest.  At  last  the  King  must  come  forth 
from  his  retreat,  and  then —  And  then?  This  was  the 
indefinite  and  suggestive  question  which  most  of  the  young 
women  of  the  Court  were  asking  themselves,  as  they  de- 
vised fresh  ways  of  expending  gold — or  credit — upon  al- 
ready priceless  toilets.  In  many  families  it  was  impossible 
that  madame  and  monsieur  should  dress  with  proper  mag- 
nificence. Thus,  at  this  period,  there  sprang  to  life  cer- 
tain Paris  houses,  backed  with  good  capital,  where  single 
garments  or  entire  costumes  of  any  design,  color,  or  elab- 
oration might  be  rented  for  a  day  or  evening,  at  from  five 
to  fifty  louis.  Each  costume  was  guaranteed  unique,  and 
no  article  was  ever  worn  twice  at  any  time  by  any  one.  It 
was  the  most  madly  extravagant  period  of  the  most  ex- 
travagant reign  in  the  history  of  France.  Monseigneur 
de  Chartres  appeared  one  evening  in  a  coat  which  was  val- 
ued at  thirty  thousand  livres.  He  was  not  particularly 
marked  in  it.  But,  when  he  was  guilty  of  wearing  the 
thing  just  as  it  was  a  second  time,  he  excited  the  sneers 
and  the  malicious  wit  of  the  (Eil  and  of  every  salon  in 
Paris — prince  of  the  blood  though  he  was. 

Of  all  the  women  who  hoped  and  planned  to  entrap  roy- 
alty in  royal  Versailles,  none  was  supposed  to  have  more 
justifiable  hope  of  success  than  Claude's  colonial  wife,  the 
last  eligible  de  Mailly.  She  was  watched,  commented  on, 
envied.  Wherever  she  was  seen,  a  train  of  followers  was 
to  be  found.  Her  style  in  dress,  which  still,  though  none 


One    More   de   Mailly?  421 

but  Claude  knew  it,  was  an  adumbration  of  Maryland 
fashions,  began  to  be  copied.  Extremely  curly  hair,  and 
great  neatness  as  to  bodices  and  petticoats,  with  a  lessen- 
ing of  hoops,  became  gradually  more  and  more  common. 
Deborah  was  unaffectedly  demure.  It  had  been  instilled 
into  her  from  babyhood  as  the  proper  manner  for  a  gentle- 
woman. The  French  notion  of  simplicity,  which  was  no 
more  than  a  new  form  of  coquetry,  became  something  which 
was  practised  everywhere.  Despite  imitative  flattery,  how- 
ever, Deborah  was  not  sought  after  by  many  women.  She 
had  more  than  one  bitter  enemy  at  Court,  had  she  known 
or  cared  for  it;  and  many  were  the  spiteful  whispers  cur- 
rent about  Mme.  de  Mailly's  dull  stupidity. 

True,  Deborah  lacked  French  verve.  Nor  did  she  pos- 
sess French  deceitfulness.  But,  as  Louis  de  Richelieu 
had  disastrously  discovered,  she  was  neither  heavy  nor 
stupid.  During  the  days  that  followed  the  death  of  Mme. 
de  Chateauroux,  while  the  King  lived  in  retirement,  the 
Countess  de  Mailly  existed  dully,  as  in  a  dream.  It  seemed 
as  though  the  night  that  followed  the  return  from  Choisy 
had  blunted  her  sensibility.  She  could  not  understand 
her  apparent  want  of  feeling;  and  Claude  was  no  more 
surprised  at  her  than  was  she  at  herself.  They  had  never 
afterwards  discussed  the  incidents  of  that  night,  though 
both  had  intended  to  open  the  subject — some  time.  Yet, 
had  Claude  questioned  her  again  as  to  her  discovery,  and 
the  manner  of  it,  Deborah  could  not  be  sure  that  she  would 
have  told  him.  They  seemed  now  to  be  growing  always 
further  apart.  Claude,  unhappy  and  lonely,  went  his  own 
way.  Deborah  permitted  herself  to  be  tossed,  unresisting- 
ly, on  the  waves  of  circumstances.  Only  two  things  she 
dreaded.  One  was  the  sight  of  that  cabinet  in  the  wall, 
wherein  still  stood  the  row  of  bottles  and  the  white  box. 
The  second  was  the  return  of  Richelieu  to  Versailles.  How 
would  the  great  Duke  meet  her,  and  how  was  she  to  treat 
him  upon  that  inevitable  return?  A  difficult  question, 
this  last.  And  yet  Deborah  need  not  have  worried  upon 
it,  for  it  was  Richelieu  himself  who  would  determine  the 


422         The   House  of  de  Mailly 

affair;  and,  though  it  seemed  impossible  that  he  should 
ever  reap  as  he  had  sown,  yet  the  two  weeks  that  he  spent 
away  from  Versailles  were  two  which,  in  later  years,  he 
never  permitted  himself  to  contemplate  in  memory. 

Richelieu,  after  gaining  a  surprised  and  peevish  per- 
mission from  his  King,  left  Versailles  at  six  o'clock  on 
the  morning  of  December  9th.  He  was  perfectly  aware  of 
the  comment  which  this  conduct  would  excite;  but  for 
once  he  was  beyond  the  dread  of  gossip.  He  could  not 
remain  in  that  palace.  His  insouciance — his  nerve — had 
left  him.  He  departed  in  search  of  it.  The  impedimenta 
which  accompanied  him  were  not  ostentatious.  He  went 
post,  in  a  series  of  coaches,  his  valet  in  front,  his  travelling- 
coffer  behind,  he  alone  in  the  body.  In  this  way,  by  dull 
stages,  they  reached  Chalons-sur-Marne.  Here  he  had 
intended  to  remain  for  a  little,  when  he  chanced  to  re- 
member that  Mme.  de  Chateauroux  had  written  him  from 
here,  after  her  flight  from  Metz.  It  seemed  that  France 
had  been  created  to  remind  him  of  her.  He  hurried  on 
to  Vitry,  and  there  sought  rest.  Quiet  enough  were  the 
long,  frozen  days  passed  incognito  at  a  village  inn.  Mon- 
sieur le  Due  would  have  fared  infinitely  better  at  one  of 
his  three  chateaux.  He  could  now  almost  smile  at  himself  for 
not  having  gone  to  them.  But  when  he  left  Versailles  it 
seemed  that  he  was  a  man  who  must  hide,  and  that  to  go  to 
one  of  his  own  estates  would  have  meant  to  remain  there 
for  life — exiled  by  some  sudden  order  of  Louis.  Truly, 
had  any  one  prophesied  to  him  six  months  before  what  an 
absolutely  paralyzing  shock  his  nervous  system  was  to 
undergo,  he  —  well  acquainted  with  that  blase  structure — 
would  have  laughed  at  it  as  an  impossibility.  But  this 
present  species  of  accident — necessary  accident — had  not 
been  foreseen.  He  forbade  himself  now,  rigidly,  to  con- 
sider the  matter,  or  to  encourage  memory  in  any  form. 
But  memory  would  come  back,  sometimes,  in  the  form  of 
some  one  of  whom  he  must  beware.  Mme.  de  Mailly — what 
to  do  concerning  her?  She  knew — had  surmised — every- 
thing. But  she  had  no  proof.  Court  gossip  was  well 


One    More   de    Mailly?  423 

checked;  for  the  Duke  had  stayed  long  enough  at  the 
palace  to  make  sure  of  that.  Mme.  de  Mailly,  were  she 
wise,  would,  for  her  own  sake,  say  nothing.  Was  she 
wise?  If  not — he  was  ruined  —  unless  —  he  could  ruin 
her.  A  counter-accusation  might  certainly  be  possible, 
however  undesirable  it  would  prove.  After  carefully 
balancing  the  matter  for  many  nights,  his  Grace  decided 
upon  a  middle  course.  If  Deborah  kept  her  silence,  she 
might  take  her  course  with  the  King,  unhindered — secret- 
ly helped,  perhaps,  by  her  former  champion.  Richelieu 
would  advance  no  other  candidate,  and  the  de  Mailly  might 
be  very  sure  of  the  post.  Then,  when  she  was  installed, 
would  it  be  so  difficult  to  ingratiate  himself  once  more,  he 
who,  out  of  good-will  to  her,  by  her  own  methods,  had  for- 
ever disembarrassed  her  of  her  only  rival?  Ah,  Richelieu 
was  a  diplomat  —  a  true  French  diplomat!  But  he  had 
studied  France  only,  and  was  moving  along  well-known 
ways.  The  American  colonies  were  his  unknown  world. 

For  three  days  Vitry  was  amusingly  dull.  For  three 
more  it  was  endurable.  And  for  seventy -two  hours  after 
that  Richelieu  and  his  suffering  Grachet  remained  in  their 
impossible  inn.  Under  a  diet  of  salt  meat,  hard  black 
bread,  a  rare  egg  or  two,  and  milk  soup,  the  Duke's  gout- 
twinges  left  him,  he  found  himself  able  to  leave  off  half 
his  usual  rouge,  and  his  conscience  became  stifled  under 
the  fiercer  pangs  of  ennui.  Then,  into  this  wilderness, 
there  came  a  letter — from  Marc  Antoine  d'Argenson,  in 
reply  to  one  of  Richelieu's. 

"Why  do  you  bury  yourself,  my  friend?  Surely  your 
mourning  cannot  be  as  heartfelt  as  that  of  the  King.  Our 
poor  master  wears  a  look  which  makes  us  tremble  for  his 
life."* 

Then  followed  entreaties,  innumerable  and  eloquent, 
to  return  to  the  King's  side.  There  were  reminders  of 
Christmas  feles,  of  the  approaching  marriage  of  the 
Dauphin,  and  the  necessity  that  Louis  make  a  speedy 

*  Authenti?. 


424        The  House   of  de  Mailly 

reappearance  among  his  gentlemen,  or  he  would  die  of 
the  vapors  on  Bachelier's  hands. 

Richelieu  smiled  as  he  read.  This  was  better.  Evi- 
dently Mme.  Deborah  had  been  very  wise,  indeed.  She 
really  deserved  what  she  would  attain  to.  His  Grace 
considered  his  nervous  system  for  some  minutes,  pictured 
to  himself  certain  ordeals  through  which  he  must  pass, 
found  that  his  nonchalance  had  returned,  and  so  sum- 
moned his  faithful  Grachet  to  pack  his  things  and  order 
out  a  post-chaise  at  once.  Needless  to  say,  Grachet 
worked  with  delight.  A  court  valet  suffers  as  much  from 
court-fever  as  any  noble  of  them  all;  and  no  better  proof 
of  Richelieu's  position  could  be  put  forth  than  the  fact  that 
his  servant  was  content  to  stay  with  him  through  such 
days  as  had  just  passed,  for  the  sake  of  still  being  known 
as  "Richelieu's  man."  However,  this  very  day,  the  20th 
of  December,  saw  the  two  once  more  upon  their  home- 
ward way. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  23d  the  King  walked  the 
length  of  the  great  gallery  with  M.  de  Chartres  and 
the  Cardinal  de  Luynes,  permitting  himself  to  be  seen  by 
the  whole  (Eil-de-Bo2uf.  That  night,  for  the  first  time 
since  December  8th,  he  slept  in  the  small  bedroom,  re- 
moving from  the  state  apartments  in  which  he  was  al- 
ways so  forlorn.  On  the  following  day,  to  his  great  delight, 
Richelieu  reappeared,  and  was  the  first  of  the  little  entries 
to  be  admitted  between  breakfast  and  mass.  The  Duke 
seemed  perfectly  well,  and  in  better  spirits  than  ever  be- 
fore. Louis  brightened  under  his  very  glance,  and  kept 
him  talking  for  an  hour,  to  the  displeasure  of  the  minis- 
ters in  the  antechamber.  When  Richelieu  finally  emerged 
from  the  cabinet  he  was  seized  upon  by  d'Argenson,  and 
accompanied  that  gentleman  willingly  enough  into  the 
empty  Salle  du  Jeu,  where,  with  a  desire  for  mutual  con- 
versation, they  sat  down  opposite  each  other  at  one  of  the 
square  tables. 

"  Well,  then,  Monsieur  le  Due—" 

"Well,  then,  my  dear  Comte— " 


One    More    de  Mailly?  425 

And  thereupon,  for  some  reason,  they  burst  into  laughter, 

When  it  had  subsided  d'Argenson's  eyes  still  twinkled. 
"Well,  du  Plessis,  we  are  still  here/' 

Richelieu  grew  a  shade  more  serious.  "Let  us  thank 
the  gods,"  he  said,t  dryly. 

"And  —  the ' malignant  fever/  What  do  you  think  of 
the  King?" 

"  He  is  pale.  He  looks  ill.  We  must  rouse  him,  amuse 
him,  get  rid  of  this  ennui.  In  that  case  he  will  forget  soon 
enough." 

"  We  intrust  the  task  to  you,  then.  None  of  us  has  been 
successful." 

"  We  shall  see.  Now,  put  me  in  touch  with  events.  What 
has  happened?  Who  is  turned  devotee?  Who  is  the  last 
unfaithful?  Also,  and  principally,  what  is  the  last  de- 
velopment in  the  contest  for  the  post  of  King's  lady?" 

"First,  it  is  said  that  Mme.  de  Boufflers  and  the  Vau- 
guyon  have  quarrelled.  When  one  is  in  the  Queen's  circle, 
the  other  leaves  it.  Her  Majesty  is  in  great  distress.  The 
Cardinal  de  Tencin  has  insulted  Marechal  Saxe  by  re- 
ferring slightingly  to  the  Marshal's  mother.  Trudaine 
is  d'Henin's  rival  in  the  direction  of  Mme.  de  Chambord. 
And  Mme.  de  Grammont  is  utterly  furious  with — the  little 
de  Mailly." 

"  Ah !     And  why?"  asked  the  Duke,  softly. 

"  Can  you  ask?  Mme.  de  Mailly  is  to  replace  her  cousin. 
Every  one  says  it.  The  King  talks  of  her,  her  youth,  her 
naivete,  her  freshness,  continually.  You  are  to  be  con- 
gratulated. She  was  your  choice,  was  she  not,  from  the 
first?" 

Richelieu  made  an  effort.  "Yes — yes — from  the  first, 
as  you  say.  What  of  the  other,  the  bourgeois,  Mme. 
d'Etioles?" 

"  Oh — his  Majesty  sees  her  sometimes,  I  think.  She  is 
pretty,  but  —  bourgeois,  of  course.  M.  de  Ge"vres  is  fol- 
lowing in  your  lead.  He  is  to  be  seen  at  all  times  with 
the  Countess." 

"And  what  of  Claude?    Does  he  say  nothing?" 


426         The  House   of  de  Mailly 

"Nothing,  I  believe.     The  King  seems  fatal  to  him." 

"  Well,  let  us  depart  now  for  the  CEil.  I  am  anxious  to 
behold  all  the  gossips  once  again/' 

The  two  rose  and  passed  together  into  the  corridor,  which 
opened  on  the  great  gallery.  "Ah!  By -the -way/' ob- 
served d'Argenson,  as  they  went,  "his  Majesty  has  begun 
to  cook  again/' 

"To  cook!"  Richelieu's  heart  quivered  suddenly. 
"What—" 

"M.  de  Richelieu!  Good-morning — a  thousand  con- 
gratulations on  your  return  to  us.  You  go  to  the  (Eil? 
I  will  return  there  with  you.  Charming — charming — the 
Court  has  been  empty  without  you.  You  will  reawaken 
his  Majesty.  Doubtless  Monsieur  le  Comte  has  been  giv- 
ing you  the  details  of  our  deplorably  dull  state.  Voyons!" 

At  any  other  time  de  Tess6  would  have  annoyed  Riche- 
lieu excessively  with  this  shower  of  familiarity;  but  at 
the  moment  he  was  grateful  for  it,  since  it  brought  him  to 
himself  again.  During  the  walk  down  the  gallery  they 
encountered  half  a  dozen  more  ladies  and  gentlemen,  all  of 
whom  greeted  the  Duke  with  effusive  warmth,  and  enabled 
him  to  reach  a  very  suitable  frame  of  mind  for  his  appear- 
ance in  the  famous  Bull's-Eye,  which  was  presently  reached. 

The  small  room  was  crowded.  Every  one  went  there  for 
the  hour  preceding  mass — a  service  which  had  lately  be- 
come highly  popular,  it  being  the  only  place  where  his 
Majesty  was  visible.  Richelieu  was  given  but  an  instant's 
survey  of  the  throng  before  a  group  closed  in  upon  him. 
But  in  that  instant  he  had  found  what  he  sought  —  the 
figure  of  Deborah,  who  stood  under  the  Bull's-Eye,  de  G£- 
vres  on  her  right  hand,  Penthievre  on  her  left,  de  Sauvre"  in 
front,  and  Claude  ten  feet  away,  against  the  wall,  talk- 
ing abstractedly  to  d'Argenson's  impossible  and  still  un- 
married cousin. 

It  took  Richelieu  ten  minutes  to  reach  the  centre  of  the 
room,  and  even  such  speed  necessitated  not  a  few  curt  re- 
plies to  questions,  and  some  very  brief  salutations  to  several 
ladies  who  had  hoped  for  much  more.  Mme.  de  Grammont, 


One   More   de   Mailly?  427 

receiving  from  him  only  a  bow,  glared  angrily ;  and  half 
a  dozen  others  sniffed  with  envious  significance  as  de 
Sauvre"  made  room  for  his  friend  before  the  unconscious 
Deborah. 

"  Mme.  de  Mailly,  I  have  the  honor  to  make  you  my  com- 
pliments/' came  in  cool,  smooth,  smiling  tones  from  this 
master  of  situations. 

The  color  fled,  to  the  last  drop,  behind  the  rouge  on  Deb- 
orah's face.  Her  knees  shook,  and  her  hands  became 
suddenly  cold  and  moist.  The  Duke  was  bowing  pro- 
foundly— giving  her  time.  When  he  raised  his  head  again 
she  also  had  straightened,  and  her  face  was  well  under 
control. 

"  I  congratulate  Versailles  upon  the  return  of  Monsieur 
le  Due,"  she  said,  after  a  strong  effort. 

"  Thank  you,"  he  replied,  and  then  paused,  as  if  waiting 
for  something  further. 

To  cover  the  strain  of  the  moment  she  made  herself  ex- 
tend her  hand.  He  took  it  on  the  back  of  his,  felt  its  icy 
coldness,  and  muttered  "  Brava!"  to  himself  while  he  lifted 
it  to  his  lips.  Then,  as  he  moved  closer  to  her,  the  other 
gentlemen,  with  reluctant  politeness,  drew  to  one  side. 

"  You  will  be  visible  this  afternoon  in  the  Rue  d'Anjou?" 
he  asked. 

"No,  monsieur." 

"  To-morrow?" 

"No." 

"  I  beg,  madame,  that  you  will  grant  me  an  audience  at 
any  time." 

"No,  monsieur. 

"  We  are  friends?"  he  ventured. 

"You  need  have  no  fear,"  was  her  reply,  as  she  looked 
him  steadily  in  the  face,  her  poise  regained.  "In  the 
world — we  are  friends." 

It  was  the  man  who  was  disconcerted.  Her  presence, 
her  self-possession,  amazed  him ;  though  no  more,  indeed, 
than  they  did  her.  Her  behavior  had  been  an  inspiration. 
Happily,  at  this  moment,  an  usher  appeared. 


428         The  House    of  de  Mailly 

"Messieurs  and  mesdames — his  Majesty  descends  to 
mass." 

There  was  an  instantaneous  movement  towards  the  door 
of  the  grand  gallery.  As  Claude  advanced  to  his  wife's 
side,  Richelieu,  with  a  nod  to  him,  turned  from  her  and 
sought  out  de  Gevres,  in  whose  company  he  entered  the 
chapel. 

After  mass,  at  which  their  Majesties  sat  together,  the 
Court,  much  relieved  in  conscience,  scattered  for  dinner. 
The  de  Mailly s,  having  no  engagements  for  the  next  two 
hours,  returned  by  coach  to  their  apartment.  The  drive 
was  accomplished  in  silence,  neither  having  anything  new 
to  say;  both,  for  different  reasons,  avoiding  any  remark 
upon  the  return  of  Richelieu,  which  was  the  only  thing 
offering  field  for  discussion.  On  reaching  home  they  re- 
tired to  their  separate  rooms  to  make  some  slight  prepara- 
tion for  the  tete-h-tete  dinner.  As  usual,  Deborah  was  ready 
first,  and  seated  herself  in  the  salon  to  await  her  husband. 
Almost  immediately  upon  her  entrance  her  first  lackey  ap- 
peared and  advanced  hesitatingly  into  the  room,  carrying 
something  in  his  hand.  At  a  little  distance  from  madame 
he  coughed  discreetly. 

Deborah  looked  towards  him.     "What  is  it,  Laroux?" 

"Madame  " — he  came  closer — "madame,  at  noon  to-day 
something  was  delivered  for  you." 

"Forme?    What  is  it?    I  have  lost  nothing. " 

The  servant  grinned,  and  held  out  to  her  a  box — a  carved 
sandal -wood  box — on  top  of  which  was  fastened  a  half- 
blown  rose. 

Deborah  took  it  from  him.  "  What  is  it?  Who  brought 
it  here?" 

"Madame,"  whispered  the  valet,  mysteriously,  "it  was 
brought  by  Bachelier,  the  confidential  valet  of  his  Majesty. 
It  is  from  the  King." 

"From  the  King!"  cried  the  Countess  de  Mailry,  open- 
eyed. 

"The  King!"  echoed  a  hoarse  voice  beside  her.  "The 
King!"  Then,  suddenly,  the  box  was  furiously  struck 


One   More   de   Mailly?  429 

out  of  her  hands.  The  lid  fell  open.  Deborah  and  Claude, 
both  pale,  both  trembling,  the  one  with  dread,  the  other 
with  uncontrollable  passion,  stood  facing  each  other,  the 
box  between  them,  and  a  shower  of  chocolate  candies  roll- 
ing upon  the  polished  floor. 


CHAPTER   XIII 

The    Hotel    de    Ville 

OR  the  next  seven  weeks  life  in  the  de  Mailly 
menage  was  anything  but  agreeable.  Mon- 
sieur and  madame  addressed  each  other, 
when  necessary,  in  rigidly  polite  terms. 
Ordinarily  there  was  silence  between  them. 
Claude's  jealousy  was  very  real,  and,  if  one  judged  by 
Court  gossip  and  the  manner  of  the  King,  instead  of  Deb- 
orah's acts,  it  was  by  no  means  unfounded.  Claude 
always  knew  where  his  wife  was  and  to  what  solemn 
functions  and  small  parties  she  went.  If  questioned  ab- 
solutely, he  would  have  admitted  that  he  believed  her 
true — as  yet.  But  he  lived  upon  the  extreme  edge  of  a 
volcanic  crater,  and  the  existence  was  not  tranquil.  He 
grew  morose,  irritable,  and  habitually  silent.  Rarely 
was  he  to  be  found  in  his  usual  haunts,  in  his  usual  com- 
pany ;  but  remained  at  home,  or  in  Paris  with  Henri,  when 
he  was  not,  with  all  too  palpable  anxiety,  following  his 
wife.  His  new  manner  was  speedily  remarked  by  the 
Court. 

"De  Mailly  is  showing  execrably  bad  taste,"  observed 
the  Marquis  de  Tess6  to  the  Comte  d'Egmont,  one  evening 
at  Marly. 

"Poor  fellow!  It  is  a  pity  he  has  such  good  taste  in 
women.  He  courts  his  wife  like  a  lover." 

"Bah!  He  watches  her  like  a  duenna.  He  courts 
something  different." 

"And  what  is  that,  my  dear  Marquis?" 

"When  the  King  is  quite  ready — a  new  exile." 

"Ah!" 


The   Hotel   de  Ville  431 

But  the  King  was,  at  any  rate,  not  ready  yet.  When 
he  came  out  of  his  retirement  he  found  many  things  de- 
manding immediate  attention;  and  the  chief  of  these  was 
something  which  promised  great  and  brilliant  gayety 
for  the  Court.  It  was  the  approaching  marriage  of  the 
Dauphin,  whose  betrothal  to  the  Infanta  Maria  Theresa 
Antoinette  Raphaelle,  daughter  of  Philip  V.  of  Spain,  had 
been  arranged  to  obliterate  the  memory  of  the  insult  to 
the  younger  sister  of  the  Princess,  who,  designed  for  the 
wife  of  Louis  XV.  himself,  and  brought  up  in  France, 
had  been  returned  with  thanks  to  Spain,  at  the  instigation 
of  Mme.  de  Prie,  who  had  fancied  herself,  for  a  little  while, 
a  successful  creator  of  queens.  Preparations  for  the  cel- 
ebration of  the  Dauphin's  wedding  were  therefore  begun 
on  the  most  elaborate  scale  which  the  King  and  Richelieu 
together  could  devise;  and  with  the  beginning  of  the  new 
year  came  a  series  of  entertainments  given  at  Versailles, 
or  by  great  families  in  Paris  hdtels,  which  allowed  the 
Court  no  time  for  anything  but  thoughts  of  the  splendor 
of  existence  and  the  details  of  new  costumes. 

It  was  not  till  February,  however,  that  the  Dauphiness 
Infanta  arrived  in  France;  and  on  the  20 th  day  of 
that  month  the  King  rode  to  Etampes  to  meet  her.  She 
and  her  sixteen-year-old  Dauphin  were  married  in  the 
Chapel  of  Versailles  on  February  23d,  in  the  pres- 
ence of  their  Majesties  and  as  many  persons  of  blue  blood 
as  the  place  would  hold. 

"My  Heaven,  but  she  is  homely!"  whispered  the 
Marechale  de  Mirepoix  to  Mme.  de  Boufflers. 

"All  princesses  are,  my  dear.  It  is  one  of  their  duties 
to  be  hideous.  The  good  God  could  not  give  them  too 
much.  They  say  she  is  sympathetic." 

"One  would  need  to  be  with  that  countenance.  Poor 
Dauphin." 

"  Oh — he  does  not  know  a  pretty  woman  when  he  sees 
one,  thanks  to  the  good  Pere  Griffet  and  his  mamma." 

"And  shall  you  go  on  Tuesday  to  the  H6tel  de  Ville?" 

"Certainly.     The  world  will  be  there,     They  say  that 


432         The  House   of  de  Mailly 

it  will  be  a  finer  ball  than  that  in  the  Galerie  des  Glaces 
on  Saturday." 

"It  will  be  more  lively.  Some  of  the  bourgeoisie  are 
asked." 

"Ah!  Then  we  shall  have  that  Madame — what  do  you 
call  her? — d'Etioles  there.  She  is  mad  over  the  King, 
they  say." 

Mme.  de  Mirepoix  leaned  forward  over  the  ribbon  and 
gazed  down  the  aisle  to  the  altar,  where  the  King  was 
standing,  close  to  his  son.  "  1  do  not  wonder  at  her.  His 
Majesty  is  the  handsomest  man  in  France.  See  him  now 
— beside  Monseigneur!  Were  1  the  Dauphine,  I  should 
have  managed  to  marry  the  father  instead  of  the  son." 

"Yes,  truly!     She  is  nearer  his  Majesty's  age!" 

The  two  smiled  and  crossed  themselves.  The  ceremony 
was  over. 

Mme.  de  Boufflers  was  right  in  her  conjecture  that  Mme. 
d'Etioles  would  be  at  the  ball  at  the  H6tel  de  Ville.  Much 
to  the  pretty  woman's  discomfiture,  she  and  her  stout  hus- 
band had  not  been  bidden  to  any  of  the  festivities  in 
Versailles,  thus  proving  that  one  needed  sometimes  some- 
thing more  than  Mme.  de  Conti  to  secure  a  foothold 
among  the  noblesse.  Some  half-dozen  ancestors  had 
served  better.  Nevertheless,  at  this,  her  first  opportunity, 
Mme.  d'Etioles  had  determined  to  accomplish  wonders. 
It  was  to  be  a  bal  masque,  and  the  choice  of  costume, 
therefore,  was  perfectly  unrestrained.  Madame  designed 
her  dress  without  consulting  monsieur.  She  would  go  as 
the  huntress  Diana,  with  Grecian  drapery  of  China  silk, 
falling  in  folds  scant  enough  to  show  all  the  pretty, 
rounded  lines  of  her  figure.  Over  her  left  shoulder 
hung  a  golden  quiver,  and  she  would  carry  the  classic 
bow  in  her  hand.  It  needed  but  little  imagination 
to  picture  all  the  possibilities  for  coquetry  which  these 
accessories  to  her  toilet  would  open  to  her.  Lancret  him- 
self consented  to  design  her  Greek  coiffeur,  and  to  designate 
the  exact  spot  from  which  her  crescent  must  shine.  And 


The   Hotel   de  Ville  433 

in  the  end  Mme.  d'Etioles  was  able  to  regard  herself  with 
high  satisfaction,  when  she  stood  before  her  mirror  fully 
dressed,  at  nine  o'clock  on  the  momentous  evening  of  the 
last  of  February. 

An  hour  later  the  H6tel  de  Ville  presented  a  gorgeous 
spectacle.  Its  great  hall,  where  the  dancing  was  to  take 
place,  was  hung  from  floor  to  ceiling  with  priceless  tapes- 
tries. Above  these,  as  a  frieze,  were  festooned  the  old 
battle-flags  of  France,  tattered  banners  of  many  a  sturdy 
knight  and  many  a  long-past  warrior-king.  On  the  west 
wall,  in  the  place  of  honor,  just  above  the  royal  platform, 
hung  the  flag  and  pennants  of  Louis  XV.  's  own  guard,  used 
in  the  last  campaign.  The  dais  below  these  formed  a 
centre  of  interest  to  the  throngs  of  glittering  and  perfumed 
men  and  women  who  were  by  now  pouring,  in  a  steady 
stream,  into  the  room.  The  platform  was  raised  consid- 
erably above  the  floor,  and  was  mounted  by  a  little  flight 
of  six  steps  that  extended  across  the  front  of  the  raised 
space.  This  was  entirely  covered  with  a  carpet  of  white 
silk  and  gold,  draped  and  fastened  on  the  sides  with  golden 
rosettes,  while  over  the  whole  hung  a  voluminous  canopy 
of  purple  velvet,  in  the  fashion  of  Louis  XIV.  's  time.  Be- 
low, in  the  centre  of  the  platform,  stood  the  throne,  a  great 
gilt  chair,  with  cushion  and  footstool  of  purple,  around 
which  were  grouped  the  stars  of  the  evening,  twelve  of 
the  prettiest  women  of  the  bourgeoisie.  All  of  these  ladies 
were  in  the  classic  garb  which  had  been  wont  so  to  delight 
the  heart  of  the  great  Louis ;  and  among  them,  conspicuous 
alike  for  beauty  of  figure  and  of  dress,  was  Jeanne  Poisson 
d'Etioles,  a  little  chagrined  at  the  thought  that  her  place 
proclaimed  her  class,  but  pleased  with  the  assurance  that 
the  King  must  perceive  her  as  soon  as  he  entered  the  room. 
Like  her  companions,  and,  indeed,  every  one  else  in  the 
room,  she  wore  a  small  mask — of  stiff,  white  silk.  And 
with  masks,  as  with  everything  else,  much  may  be  done. 

It  was  understood  that  the  twelve  goddesses  were  to 
remain  on  their  Olympus  until  Jove,  otherwise  his  Maj- 
esty, made  his  appearance  in  the  room.  But  it  had  oc- 
28 


434         The  House   of  de   Mailly 

curred  to  no  one  that,  in  all  probability,  the  King's 
entrance  would  be  unobserved,  since  he,  also,  was  to  be  dis- 
guised. This,  unfortunately,  was  the  case.  Louis  had  no 
idea  of  ascending  to  a  purple-and-gold  position  this  evening. 
Thus  the  twelve  dames  posed  upon  their  platform  for  an 
hour  or  more,  speaking  but  seldom,  keeping  their  eyes  fas- 
tened close  on  the  grand  entrance,  and  longing  mightily 
to  join  the  gay  throng  about  them,  where  they  also  might 
enter  into  all  the  little  intrigues  and  mysteries  that  formed 
the  amusement  of  such  an  affair. 

Mme.  d'Etioles  was,  whether  by  nature  or  cultivation,  a 
remarkably  graceful  woman.  As  she  moved  slowly  about 
the  dais,  each  step  was  a  classic  pose,  each  movement  as 
studied  as  it  seemed  careless.  From  her  manner  one 
would  have  imagined  her  as  tranquilly  happy  as  was  the 
goddess  whom  she  represented.  In  reality  her  heart  pal- 
pitated with  anger  and  mortification.  She  realized  that 
the  King  must  have  arrived  long  before  this.  He  was 
somewhere  in  that  company  which  she  looked  upon,  and 
from  which,  by  means  of  this  silly  display,  she  was  de- 
barred. In  gazing  leisurely  over  the  crowd,  she  was  able 
to  recognize  many  of  the  women  and  not  a  few  of  the  men 
merely  by  their  figures  and  their  manner  of  walking. 
There  was  the  Comtesse  de  Mailly,  her  all-but-successful 
rival,  fluttering  beside  a  warrior  of  Clovis'  time.  Diana 
shrugged  enviously  at  Deborah's  costume.  It  was  made 
to  represent  a  large  white  butterfly,  or  moth,  perhaps.  The 
vestment  was  of  white  silk  crepe,  figured  with  yellow.  On 
her  back  were  two  huge  wings  of  grayish  gauze,  faintly 
patterned  in  yellow,  and  glittering  with  silver  spangles. 
Her  head  was  crowned  with  a  silver  circlet,  from  which,  in 
front,  sprang  two  long,  quivering  "feelers"  tipped  with 
tiny  diamonds  that  flashed  like  fireflies  as  they  swayed  up 
and  down.  The  butterfly  was  presently  approached  by  a 
slender  figure  in  star-spangled,  black  gauze  draperies,  her 
head  ornamented  with  a  larger  crescent  than  that  which 
Diana  wore.  Mme.  d'Etioles  did  not  recognize  this  black- 
masked  figure,  but  it  was  Victorine  de  Coigny  who  had 


The    Hotel   de  Ville  435 

chosen  the  sombre,  commonplace  raiment.  Mme.  d'Etioles 
beheld  these  two  women  accosted  by  a  monk — Richelieu — 
who,  later,  with  a  humor  of  his  own,  exchanged  his  Capu- 
chin dress  for  the  red-and-black  one  of  a  devil.  The  hel- 
meted  warrior  had  turned  to  Mme.  de  Mailly  with  an  evi- 
dent invitation  to  dance.  Mme.  d'Etioles  saw  them  go  off 
together,  and  then  brought  her  gaze  slowly  back  towards 
the  platform,  encountering,  as  she  did  so,  a  pair  of  blue 
eyes  that  were  looking  earnestly  at  her  from  a  white  mask. 
Diana  smiled  graciously.  The  owner  of  the  blue  eyes 
emerged  from  the  passing  throng  and  advanced  to  the  edge 
of  the  dais.  He  proved  to  be  a  tall,  slender  person,  in  the 
garb  of  a  miller.  On  arriving  at  the  platform  he  looked 
up  at  Diana,  and  said,  pleasantly :  "  Surely  the  old  Olym- 
pus never  knew  so  fair  a  goddess." 

Jeanne  Poisson  started.  She  recognized  instantly  that 
peculiar  and  undisguisable  voice.  Quickly  taking  com- 
mand of  the  situation,  she  drew  from  her  quiver  a  golden 
arrow,  and,  pointing  it  at  him  over  her  bow,  began  slowly 
to  descend  the  steps. 

"Beautiful  huntress/'  cried  the  King,  advancing  nearer 
to  her,  "the  arrows  you  discharge  are  fatal!" 

Mme.  d'Etioles  returned  the  little  missile  to  its  place. 
Louis  XV.  was  close  beside  her.  With  a  quick,  catlike 
movement,  she  raised  one  hand  to  her  face.  The  white 
mask  came  off. 

"Ah!"  murmured  his  Majesty. 

"  Au  revoir,  Sire!"  cried  the  audacious  huntress. 

The  mask  was  slipped  into  place  again.  Diana,  free  at 
last,  slipped  into  the  throng,  leaving  her  handkerchief  (a 
serious  bit  of  anachronism,  considering  her  character)  at 
the  feet  of  the  powdery  miller. 

Louis  looked  rather  quizzically  down  at  the  lacy  thing. 
He  had  hunted  and  been  hunted  many  times  before,  but 
never  just  in  this  way.  However,  he  was  not  a  king  to- 
night. Stooping  down,  he  picked  the  costly  offering  from 
the  floor  and  stood  for  a  moment  examining  it.  It  bore  no 
mark,  but  he  needed  none  to  assure  him  of  the  identity  of 


436        The  House   of   de  Mailly 

its  owner.  Neither,  perhaps,  was  he  unaware  of  the  light 
in  which  she  regarded  him.  Ah,  well !  Generally  a  king 
is  a  king.  Sometimes  he  is  a  miller.  Smiling  to  himself, 
Louis  tied  a  loose  knot  in  the  handkerchief  and  then  hurried 
into  the  crowd  in  pursuit  of  the  Diana,  who  had  left  Olympus 
for  good.  He  was  not  obliged  to  go  very  far.  She  stood 
upon  the  outer  edge  of  the  open  floor,  watching  the  dancers. 
Between  him  and  her  was  an  open  space  of  twenty  feet. 
He  raised  his  hand. 

"Take  care,  your  Majesty!"  cried  a  daring  voice  from 
one  of  the  sets.  It  was  from  the  lips  of  a  tall  Capuchin 
monk. 

The  King  flushed.  Every  eye  in  the  room  was  upon 
him  now,  he  felt.  The  heart  of  madame  beat  furiously. 
Yet — no — the  royal  arm  was  not  lowered.  Louis,  with  a 
bow,  tossed  the  handkerchief  to  her  feet.  A  dozen  hands 
sought  to  give  it  to  her.  Again  from  the  irrepressible 
dancer  came  a  cry  which  was  echoed  in  laughter  from 
every  part  of  the  throng. 

"  The  handkerchief  is  thrown \"  Which  were  more  truly 
translated,  "The  die  is  cast!" 

Nevertheless,  the  significance  of  that  prophecy  even 
Mme.  d'Etioles  herself  did  not  realize  until,  in  after- 
years,  she  had  come  to  know  too  well  that  it  had  been  a 
warning. 

Deborah,  meantime,  found  the  evening  flying  all  too  rapid- 
ly. Masked  balls  were  by  no  means  such  hackneyed  affairs 
to  her  as  they  appeared  to  be  to  most  of  the  Court.  That 
given  at  Versailles  three  nights  before  was  the  first  in  which 
she  had  participated;  and  the  little  mysteries  occasioned 
by  unguessed  partners  during  the  promenades  amused 
her  greatly.  To-night  she  was  able  to  pierce  the  disguises 
more  easily ;  and  yet,  all  unknowing,  she  had  danced  with 
Richelieu,  who  was  well  pleased  with  this  opportunity  of 
being  with  her.  She,  like  all  the  others,  recognized  the 
King  by  his  voice.  Nevertheless,  at  the  throwing  of  the 
handkerchief,  she  laughed,  and  cried  the  catch-word  with 
the  others,  evincing  so  little  concern  at  the  success  of  her 


The    Hotel   de  Ville  437 

rival  that  de  Gevres' admiration  for  a  self-control  that  was 
not  hers  rose  high. 

Deborah  danced  the  fourth  minuet  with  a  Turk,  who 
persisted  in  carrying  on  conversation  by  signs.  When, 
however,  in  the  midst  of  the  dance,  her  companion  was 
obliged  to  laugh  at  one  of  her  observations,  she  understood 
his  reason.  It  was  the  King  again.  Evidently  Claude 
had  pierced  this  new  disguise  when  she  did.  He,  in  a  plain 
white  domino,  had  followed  her  all  evening,  danced  in  the 
sets  with  her,  and  rendered  her  as  uncomfortable  as  she 
was  to  be  made  by  his  surveillance.  The  King  himself 
noticed,  without  recognizing,  this  watcher.  After  the  fourth 
dance,  therefore,  he  made  inquiries  of  de  Ge"vres,  who 
happened  to  be  at  hand : 

"  The  man  in  white,  who  is  always  near  Mme.  de  Mailly  ?" 

"Who  should  it  be,  Sire,  but — the  husband?  1  under- 
stand that  Monsieur  le  Comte  is  exceedingly  fearful  of 
madame's  reputation." 

"  Peste!  That  man  is  a  nuisance.  There  will  come  a 
time,  de  Gevres,  when  Count  Claude  will  be  quite  de  trap." 

"Again?"  ventured  the  Duke. 

"Again,"  responded  his  liege,  turning  on  his  heel  and 
walking  away. 

"Alas!  poor  Claude!"  And  de  Gevres  stood  still  for  an 
instant,  musing,  with  a  philosophic  smile,  on  the  history, 
past  and  present,  of  this  house  of  de  Mailly,  whose  women 
were  all  too  fair — and  too  femininely  weak. 

Deborah  was  now  accosted  by  a  black  domino  with  a 
silver  mask,  who  had  just  left  the  side  of  Mme.  d'Etioles. 
She  granted  his.  request  for  a  dance,  and  then  joined  him  in 
the  promenade.  He  proved  to  be  very  complaisant  and 
very  gallant.  Deborah  quickly  recognized  his  style  of 
compliment,  and  the  pretty  couplets,  with  their  epigram- 
matic turns,  which  flowed  as  easily  from  his  lips  as  wine 
would  have  run  into  them.  It  was  none  other  than  the 
man  of  many  strings — the  Abb6  de  Bernis.  He  was  in 
high  spirits  with  his  evening,  with  Mme.  d'Etioles'  odd 
experience,  and  the  quick  popularity  which  it  had  en- 


438         The  House   of  de  Mailly 

gendered  among  a  certain  set  pleased  him  nearly  as  much 
as  it  did  Diana  herself. 

The  abbe  had  not  approached  Victorine  that  evening. 
He  of  course  recognized  her  at  once,  by  her  thin  arms 
and  slight  figure ;  and  he  was  aware  that  she  would  know 
him  by  the  silver  mask,  which  he  had  worn  on  a  previous 
occasion.  She  had  even  danced  in  the  same  sixteen  with 
him  while  he  was  with  Deborah,  a  fact  which  rendered  de 
Bernis  not  a  little  uneasy  for  fear  Mme.  de  Coigny  should 
have  seized  some  opportunity  of  addressing  him  with  the 
conventional  reproaches.  His  fears  were  not  realized. 
Victorine  made  no  attempt  to  waylay  him.  He  only  felt 
the  steady  gaze  of  her  big  eyes  through  the  mask,  and  his 
nonchalance  was  proof  against  that.  He  began  to  con- 
gratulate himself  on  a  possible  happy  issue  from  a  disagree- 
able situation.  But  the  good  abbe  was  too  quick  to  hope. 

Victorine  was  in  a  dull  maze  of  thought.  She  was 
living  far  away,  to-night,  in  a  land  where  it  seemed  as 
though  she  could  look  back  upon  herself  and  her  past 
life.  She  suffered  neither  mentally  nor  physically ;  and 
she  did  not  realize  how  she  was  pressing  towards  a  great 
mental  climax,  presaged  by  this  calm.  Nevertheless, 
in  the  midst  of  the  commonplace  throng,  she  thought 
much.  While  she  watched,  now  from  one  point,  now 
another,  the  movements  of  the  black  domino,  and  while 
she  talked  with  intelligence,  even  with  wit,  to  a  series  of 
partners,  she  was-  reviewing,  with  calm,  methodical  pre- 
cision, the  history  of  the  single  human  connection  which 
had  brought  happiness  into  her  child's  life.  From  its 
inception  to  the  present  moment  every  scene  in  the  drama 
which  they  two,  de  Bernis  and  herself,  had  acted,  passed 
now  before  her  mental  eyes.  She  recalled,  with  a  wonder- 
ing thrill,  the  great,  perfect  happiness  of  the  first  months ; 
and  she  perceived,  with  slow,  sure  precision,  the  later 
undeniable  lessening  of  her  hold  upon  his  affections. 
The  reason  for  this?  That  question  she  had  never  asked 
before.  Now  the  answer  came  at  once,  quite  plainly.  It 
was  not  jealousy  that  made  reply.  No,  no.  She  saw 


The    Hotel    de  Ville  439 

truly.  It  was  only — ambition.  She  could  not  help  him 
higher.  She  had  given  all  that  was  hers  to  give,  and  more, 
perhaps.  Had  he  quite  ceased  to  profit  by  it?  Was  it  quite 
finished?  Victorine  caught  her  breath  and  looked  around 
her.  De  Bernis,  drawn  by  accident,  was  just  beside  her, 
still  talking  to  Deborah,  towards  whom  the  King  was  again 
advancing.  At  the  same  moment  Victorine  beheld  a 
gentleman  of  Henry  IV.  's  time  approaching  her.  His 
walk  resembled  that  of  the  Marquis  de  Mailly-Nesle. 
Divining  his  purpose,  she  frowned  with  displeasure  to 
think  that  he  might  keep  her  from  her  newly  formed 
project. 

"Madame,"  said  Henri,  bowing,  "may  I  ask  your  hand 
for  the  next  dance?" 

"Monsieur,"  she  returned,  with  a  slight  courtesy,  "I 
remember  that  the  King  of  Navarre  was  wont  to  enter  into 
mad  dances  with  Night.  If  you  have  not  M.  de  Sully  to 
accompany  us,  I  am  afraid  to  venture." 

De  Bernis,  from  whom  the  King  had  taken  Deborah, 
caught  this  remark,  and,  without  turning  to  the  speaker, 
stood  still,  listening. 

"  Madame,  in  my  old  life  Night  was  never  cruel ;  though 
I  admit  that  she  was  never  half  so  fair." 

"  Ah,  you  are  wrong !     The  stars  are  very  pale,  to-night. " 

"The  moon  is  over  them,  and  they  faint  with  envy." 

Victorine  shrugged,  rather  impatiently. 

"Well — your  hand,  Madame  la  Mar£chale?"  repeated 
the  Marquis,  gently,  abandoning  the  pleasantry. 

"  1  greatly  regret,  monsieur,  that  I  am  already  engaged." 

"Indeed!  To  whom?  Shall  1  seek  your  recreant 
knight?" 

"He  is  here,"  responded  Victorine,  calmly.  "This 
black  domino  has  my  hand." 

De  Bernis  started. 

"  Then,  monsieur,  you  should  claim  it  at  once  to  avoid 
further  mistake!"  observed  the  Marquis,  rather  irritably. 
And,  bowing  to  the  lady,  he  turned  upon  his  heel  and 
walked  away. 


44°         The  House  ofde  Mailly 

Mme.  de  Coigny  and  the  abbe  faced  each  other.  Vic- 
torine  did  not  speak.  De  Bernis,  after  a  moment,  did  so 
from  necessity.  "Madame  has  done  me  the  honor  to 
make  me  a  convenience.  Does  she  wish,  in  reality,  to 
dance?" 

"It  has  been  your  custom,  Francois,  to  dance  with  me 
during  the  evening.  Can  you  not  recall  the  time  when 
you  begrudged  me  a  single  minuet,  a  single  promenade, 
with  another?" 

"One  may  remember  many  useless  things,  madame." 
If  the  Fates  gave  opportunity  so  soon,  de  Bernis  was  not 
the  man  to  refuse  to  take  it.  If  he  broke  with  her  to-night, 
the  morrow  would  be  free. 

"Give  me  your  arm.  I  wish  to  walk,"  she  said,  in  a 
quiet  imperative. 

He  offered  it  silently,  and  they  joined  the  moving  pro- 
cession. 

"You  are  very  quiet,  madame,"  he  observed  presently. 

"Let  us  go,  then,  to  where  we  may  speak  freely." 

They  crossed  the  room  to  the  now  deserted  dais,  and 
here,  behind  the  purple  folds  of  the  canopy's  drapery,  they 
halted  and  stepped  apart.  In  this  recess  they  were  well 
screened  from  the  throng,  which  they  could  see  passing,  re- 
passing,  mingling,  circling  in  the  space  before  them.  And 
here,  safe  from  curious  eyes,  Victorine  removed  the  mask 
from  her  pallid  face,  and  turned  to  the  man.  De  Bernis 
also  pulled  off  his  silver  disguise,  breathing  with  relief  as 
the  air,  hot  though  it  was,  touched  his  cheeks. 

"  And  now,  Francois,  here,  at  last,  we  will  talk  together, 
as  we  should  have  done  many  weeks  ago." 

"What  are  we  to  say?"  he  asked,  warily. 

"You  shall  answer  my  accusation." 

"What  is  that?"  There  was  an  expression  very  like  a 
sneer  upon  his  face. 

"That  you  are  tired  of  me.  That  you — intend — to 
desert  me." 

He  smiled  slowly.  "Desert  you?  Impossible!  You 
are  married." 


The   Hotel   de  Ville  441 

Her  breath  was  caught  by  a  sob,  and  her  throat  contract- 
ed spasmodically  before  she  could  make  reply.  "  Spiritu- 
ally, it  is  the  same  thing.  1  have  loved — only  you." 

De  Bernis  did  not  speak  now.     Perhaps  he  was  thinking. 

"What  have  1  done  to  turn  you  away?  I  have  never 
wept  before  you,  never  complained  to  you,  never  showed 
jealousy  of  any  one  connected  with  you.  What  have  1 
done?" 

"  Nothing,  Victorine. " 

"Then  why,  Francois?" 

Her  calmness  was  disconcerting.  He  could  have  en- 
dured an  outbreak  very  well,  but  this  was  beyond  him. 
He  only  answered,  awkwardly,  "I  do  not  know." 

"But  you  are  tired  of  me?" 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  The  woman  waited. 
The  man,  with  a  physical  effort,  gathered  himself  together. 
At  length,  stepping  a  little  back  from  her,  and  looking, 
not  into  her  eyes,  for  that  he  could  not  do,  but  at  her  low, 
white  forehead  that  was  crowned  with  the  dusky  hair 
and  the  bright  crescent,  he  spoke :  "  Victorine — Victorine — 
you  are  mistaken  in  this  matter.  Well  as  you  believe  that 
you  know  me,  after  the  long  months  that  you  have  had  in 
which  to  study  me,  you  can  no  more  judge  me  or  my  mo- 
tives than  you  can  read  the  mind  of  monsieur  your  hus- 
band. You  say  that  you  have  never  shown  jealousy  to 
me.  You  were  right  not  to  do  that,  for  there  has  never 
been  need  of  it.  You  are  probably  the  only  woman  for 
whom  I  shall  ever  care  enough  to  regret  having  injured. 
You,  1  do  regret.  Believe  it.  It  is  true.  But,  madame, 
our  connection  is  over.  It  has  been  over  for  me,  as  you 
surmise,  for  some  weeks.  1  love  no  other  woman.  But 
there  is  something  which  1  do  value  above  all  things, 
yes,  above  you.  1  am  very  frank,  because  it  is  necessary. 
My  ambition,  my  desire  for  place,  is  what  1  live  for.  There 
is  no  room  for  you  in  that  life  of  mine.  You  force  me  to 
say  it.  After  to-night,  Mme.  de  Coigny,  after  to-night, 
do  you  understand  that  1  wish  to  meet  you  only  as  an 
acquaintance,  as  a  woman  of  the  world,  of  Paris,  Versailles, 


442         The  House  of  de  Mailly 

the  salons?  1  would  have  you  quite  understand  this, 
now,  since  we  are  speaking  together,  alone." 

Victorine  heard  him  without  interruption,  her  eyes 
fixed  upon  his  finely  featured  face.  When  he  ceased  to 
speak,  those  eyes  closed  for  an  instant.  She  passed  her 
hand  across  her  forehead.  Then  she  said,  in  a  tired  voice : 
"After  to-night,  Francois.  Yes.  I  understand." 

He  watched  her  refasten  her  mask.  Then  she  turned 
to  him  with  a  little  inclination  of  the  head.  "  Au  revoir." 

He  started  forward.     "Let  me  accompany  you." 

"Thank  you,  no.  I  shall  find  an  escort."  And  she 
walked  away. 

De  Bernis  stared  after  her  in  amazement.  How  splen- 
didly she  had  behaved!  In  what  a  wretched  light  she 
placed  him!  After  all,  she  was  not  an  ordinary  woman. 
Never  before  had  he  witnessed  such  self-command;  never 
had  he  hoped  to  pass  through  the  scene  so  easily,  without 
a  single  reproach,  without  a  tear.  He  could  scarcely 
yet  understand. 

Leaving  the  little  recess,  he  stood  for  a  moment  or  two 
undecidedly  watching  the  throng  before  him.  The  noise 
of  mirth  was  louder  than  ever,  though  the  crowd  was  not 
so  great.  De  Bernis'  head  ached  with  the  heat.  He 
would  leave  the  H6tel  de  Ville  and  seek  his  own  rooms 
for  sleep.  Making  his  way  slowly  to  the  dressing-rooms, 
he  removed  his  domino,  donned  a  black  cloak  and  hat, 
and,  leaving  the  great  building,  turned  his  steps  wearily 
towards  his  apartment  in  the  Rue  Bailleuls.  Twenty 
minutes  later  a  slight,  black-robed,  closely  hooded  figure 
also  left  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  and,  as  she  stepped  into  the 
waiting  coach,  gave  an  unusual  order  to  the  stolid  foot- 
man: 

"To  the  Rue  Bailleuls,  the  house  at  the  corner  of  the 
Rue  Jean  Tissin." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

Victorine    Makes    End 

HE  Abbe"  de  Bernis  did  not  keep  a  regular  body- 
servant,  for  the  excellent  reason  that  his 
somewhat  slender  means  did  not  admit  of 
one.  This  fact  was  wont  to  pique  his  vanity 
not  a  little,  and  numberless  had  been  his  un- 
heard sighs  of  envy  when  Monseigneur  This  and  Monsieur 
That  raised  their  voices  in  lofty  protestation  that  a  perfect 
valet  was  worth  more  than  a  perfect  woman,  but  that  no 
valet  in  the  kingdom,  save  Bachelier  himself,  deserved 
butter  for  his  bread.  There  are,  however,  certain  times 
when  solitude  is  a  boon  to  every  one.  Such  a  time  to  de 
Bernis  were  the  last  hours  of  this  last  night  of  winter, 
after  his  return  from  the  brilliant  evening  at  the  Hotel  de 
Ville.  He  was  in  a  mood  that  did  not  admit  of  company. 
His  swift  walk  homeward  had,  in  some  way,  stirred  his 
blood  more  than  all  the  dancing  had  done ;  and  when  he 
reached  his  rooms  he  found  himself  in  no  mood  for  sleep. 
Leisurely,  then,  by  the  flickering  light  of  the  two  candles 
on  his  table,  he  removed  the  black  satin  suit  which  he  had 
worn  beneath  his  domino,  took  the  wig  from  his  aching 
head,  put  on  a  somewhat  worn  dressing-gown,  and  seated 
himself  before  the  mirror  of  his  dressing-table. 

A  very  different  man  was  this  Francois  de  Bernis  from 
what  he  appeared  to  be  in  company.  The  affectation,  the 
disguise,  were  dropped.  Here,  at  last,  was  the  actual  man, 
whom  only  one  other  besides  himself  had  ever  seen :  the 
peculiar  head,  with  its  clipped  crop  of  bristling  black  hair 
encircling  the  tonsure;  the  dark,  Southern  face,  with  its 
straight  brows,  keen  eyes,  long  nose,  and  firm,  straight, 


444         The  House   of  de  Ma  illy 

stubborn  mouth,  with  an  anomalous  curve  of  weakness 
somewhere  lurking  in  it.  And  his  hands,  unpowdered  and 
unsoftened  now  by  the  falling  ruffles  of  lace,  showed  for 
what  they  were  —  bony,  dark,  long-fingered,  and  cruelly 
strong.  Not  so  handsome,  not  so  elegant  a  man,  after  all, 
was  M.  Francois  en  neglige. 

For  some  time  he  sat  looking  at  himself,  thinking — less 
of  himself,  for  once,  than  of  the  woman  who  had  so  easily 
accepted  her  dismissal.  After  all,  the  want  of  a  scene  had 
hurt  his  vanity.  Could  she  be  as  weary  of  him  as  he  was 
of  her?  Was  there  some  other — to  her?  The  night  out- 
side grew  blacker.  It  lacked  more  than  an  hour  to  dawn. 
The  candle-flames  flickered  in  the  darkness.  The  hour 
was  dreary  enough.  It  were  as  well  to  get  to  bed.  De 
Bernis  rose  slowly,  intending  to  finish  his  laggardly  prep- 
arations for  the  night.  He  had  not  yet  taken  a  step  when 
there  came  a  light,  quivering  knock  on  the  door  of  the  outer 
room,  his  salon.  He  stood  perfectly  still,  listening.  The 
knock  was  not  repeated,  however,  and  he  decided  that  it 
had  been  a  mistake.  Ah!  What  was  this?  The  handle 
of  his  bedroom  door  was  being  turned ;  the  door  was  pushed 
slowly  open.  There,  in  the  space,  stood  a  slight  figure, 
cloaked,  hooded,  and  masked  in  black.  Two  white  hands 
were  raised  to  the  stranger's  face.  The  mask  dropped  to 
the  floor. 

"  Victorine!"  muttered  the  man. 

"That  goes  without  saying/ 

"Grand  Dieu!    Did  you  think  that  I  expected  you?" 

"Why  not?"  The  lips  parted  slightly,  and  he  caught 
a  gleam  of  teeth.  "  You  could  not  have  imagined  that  that 
—at  the  ball— was  the  last?" 

"  So  I  did  think.     Well,  what  do  you  come  for?" 

"  Not  that  tone,  please.  You  have  no  right  to  use  it — to 
me/ 

"  What  do  you  come  for?" 

She  made  a  sound  in  her  throat  which  he  took  for  a  laugh. 
Afterwards,  shivering  slightly,  she  moved  nearer  to  him, 
and  at  sight  of  her  face  he  started  back  into  an  attitude  of 


Victorine   Makes  End  445 

defence.  He  would  have  repeated  his  question,  when  sud- 
denly she  answered  it. 

"You  gave  me  to-night.  'After  to-night/  you  said. 
Well,  it  is  not  morning  yet.  We  shall  finish  to-night." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  He  stared  at  her  figure,  at  her 
working  hands,  as  though  he  expected  to  discover  weapons 
about  her. 

Then  her  voice  and  her  face  both  changed  from  reckless 
hardness  to  a  kind  of  pitiful,  childlike  pleading :  "  Why, 
Franc. ois,  are  you  so  unkind?  You  gave  me  this  time. 
You  must  not  be  cruel  yet — till  I  am  ready." 

In  spite  of  himself  he  softened  before  the  helplessness  of 
the  little,  delicate  creature.  "What  do  you  want,  Victo- 
rine?" he  asked,  gently. 

She  was  silent  for  some  time,  till  he  thought  she  had  not 
heard  him.  When  he  was  about  to  repeat  his  words,  how- 
ever, she  said,  with  the  faintest  hesitation:  "I  want — to 
pray — here,  if  you  will  listen.  I  can  never  pray  alone, 
because  I  need  you — I  need  you  when  1  am  before  God." 
She  saw  him  shudder,  and  went  on,  imploringly:  "Oh, 
Francois,  let  me  pray  here,  once,  for  the  last  time !  Is  it  so 
much  to  ask?  Let  me  set  myself  a  little  more  right — be- 
fore you." 

"Will  you  not  be  setting  yourself  more  wrong?  Can 
you  pray?"  he  asked,  sternly,  after  a  troubled  pause. 

Her  answer  was  to  fall  upon  her  knees  before  a  chair 
near  which  she  had  been  standing.  The  seat  of  this  she 
grasped  painfully  with  both  her  thin,  delicate  hands. 
When  she  began  to  speak  her  voice  was  so  low  that  the 
man  could  barely  hear  it.  Gradually,  however,  it  became 
more  distinct : 

"0  God!  merciful  Father!  Mary,  Mother  of  Jesus!— 
our  Saviour — Christ — behold,  1  am  come  to  you!  Look 
down  upon  me  where  1  am,  and,  in  the  name  of  Justice,  no 
more,  judge  me!  You,  who  know  all  things,  know  also 
my  heart.  You  know  my  sin,  but  you  know  its  reason. 
Oh,  Thou  who  hast  said,  in  pity,  '  Because  she  has  much 
loved,  much  shall  she  be  forgiven,'  behold  me,  pity  me,  also! 


446        The  House   of  de  Mailly 

"  0  God,  thou  knowest  this  French  Court,  thou  knowest 
its  life,  how  they  take  us,  who  do  not  yet  know,  into  the 
midst  of  it.  We  are  children  at  first — so  young ! — so  young ! 
And  we  cannot  foresee  the  end.  We  do  not  know  the  prices 
here  for — happiness.  Is  it,  then,  true  that  happiness  is 
never  to  be  found  on  earth?  If  we  find  it  for  a  little  while, 
are  we  not  punished  enough  after  to — expiate?  Why  were 
we  not  told  all  at  first?  We  heard  that  such  a  thing  as 
happiness  there  was.  We  wanted  it — we  hoped  for  it — we 
thought  we  found  it.  But  we  pay  too  high.  Why  do  you 
ask  so  much  for  so  little?  Will  you  condemn  us  for  our 
youth,  our  ignorance?  Why  must  we  pay?  Why  should 
we  pay — with  those  years  and  years  and  endless  years  of 
sorrow?  If  1  say  that  1  will  not  pay — what  then? 

"God,  thou  art  called  merciful.  Hast  thou  mercy  for 
me,  who  have  wronged  none  but  myself?  Ah,  why  was  I 
decreed  to  be  born  and  grow  to  womanhood?  It  has  been 
useless.  You  will  see.  I — 1 — will  not — 1  can — "  She 
was  beginning  to  gasp,  sobbingly.  The  abbe,  who  had 
heard  her  in  silence,  came  forward. 

"  Victorine,  rise.     This  is  a  useless  blasphemy." 

"1  know.  I  know.  1  cannot  pray.  God — will  not — 
let  me!"  Her  words  came  convulsively,  and  she  shivered 
with  cold.  He  picked  her  up  in  his  arms  and  carried  her 
over  to  the  largest  chair  in  the  room.  Here  she  remained, 
helpless  and  passive ;  and  he  left  her,  to  return  presently 
with  a  glass  of  cordial.  In  obedience  to  a  look  from  him 
she  took  it,  without  protest.  When  he  had  set  aside  the 
empty  glass,  he  turned  to  her  and  spoke : 

"Madame,  it  is  nearly  morning.     You  must  go." 

Looking  up  at  him,  she  smiled — as  she  had  sometimes 
used  to  do.  "  Not  yet,"  she  said,  with  pretty  decision. 

"  Not  yet!  Mon  Dieu  1  what  can  you  do?  Why  do  you 
stay?" 

"Because  in  my  last  hours  1  wish  to  be  with  you,"  she 
said,  softly  and  lightly,  with  old-time  playful  tenderness. 

In  spite  of  himself  this  manner  influenced  him  as  no  other 
would  have  done.  He  shrugged  his  shoulders  slightlj7, 


Victorine    Makes   End  447 

and  returned,  with  a  gallant  air :  "  Madame,  1  should  wish 
to  assist  you  with  your  cloak  and  mask;  but  if  you  have 
anything  to  ask  of  me,  first — " 

She  sprang  lightly  to  her  feet,  went  to  him,  and  placed 
her  hands  on  his  shoulders.  He  felt  the  force  in  her  merely 
by  her  touch.  It  seemed  as  though  fire  from  her  fingers 
were  trickling  down  through  his  flesh  to  his  heart. 

"  Yes,  you  are  right ;  I  have  something  to  ask,  some- 
thing to  tell.  You  have  heard  it  before,  but  this  last  time 
you  must  learn  it  well,  and  must  remember  it.  Francois — 
I  love  you.  In  heaven  or  in  hell,  wherever  I  go,  1  shall 
love  you.  I  will  not  forget — and  you  shall  not.  This 
is  the  last  night  here.  But — out,  somewhere — in  the 
infinite — I  wait  for  you.  Now,  sit  here." 

She  pushed  him,  gently,  inflexibly,  over  to  the  chair 
whence  she  had  risen.  Then  she  passed  to  the  table, 
where  stood  the  two  candles  that  lighted  the  room.  Her 
great  gray  eyes  fastened  themselves  burningly,  steadily, 
upon  those  of  de  Bernis.  Under  the  gaze  he  sat  still, 
fascinated.  "Victorine — you  are  mad/'  he  murmured 
once,  vaguely. 

Hearing  the  words,  she  smiled  at  him,  but  never  moved 
her  eyes.  At  length,  when  he  had  become  passively  ex- 
pectant, she  lifted  her  hand.  "Remain  there — do  not 
move — "  she  whispered.  Then  her  fingers  moved  over 
the  candle-flames.  They  flared  and  went  out.  There 
was  a  sound  of  rustling  garments,  a  faintly  murmured 
word  from  the  man,  a  long  breath,  and  then  silence,  heavy, 
absolute,  in  the  thick  darkness. 

It  lasted  long.  All  about  that  room,  for  miles  in  the 
blackness,  the  great  city  lay  sleeping  through  the  hour 
before  dawn.  The  lights  of  the  H6tel  de  Ville  were  out. 
King  and  valet  alike  rested.  Mme.  d'Etioles  and  Marie 
Leczinska  had  forgotten  triumph  and  trouble.  Riche- 
lieu, devil  and  monk,  lay  abed  like  an  honest  man. 
And  Deborah  de  Mailly,  under  her  canopy,  dreamed, 
in  the  Versailles  apartment,  of  the  fresh  quiet  of  her  room 
at  Trevor  Manor,  the  golden  dawn  over  the  Chesapeake, 


448         The  House  of  de  Mailly 

and  the  lapping  of  the  river  against  the  banks  that  were 
lined  with  drooping  willows  and  peach-trees. 

The  first  sound  that  broke  the  stillness  in  the  room  of 
the  Rue  Bailleuls  was  the  same  as  that  on  which  silence 
had  fallen — the  long-drawn  sigh  of  a  woman.'  Then  de 
Bernis  whispered,  imperatively :  "  Madame — you  must  go. 
Morning  dawns/' 

A  second  after  came  the  gentle  reply:  "Yes,  Francois. 
Have  no  fear.  I  go." 

As  the  gray  dawn  came  up  at  last  over  the  eastern  hori- 
zon, a  coach  rattled  through  the  city  streets  upon  its  way 
to  the  Sevres  barrier.  Inside,  upon  the  cushions,  her 
reclining  figure  covered  with  a  heavy  velvet  robe,  her 
drawn  face  showing  paler  than  the  day  in  its  frame  of 
disordered  hair,  covered  with  the  black  hood,  lay  Mme. 
de  Coigny.  Her  eyes  wandered  aimlessly  from  one  win- 
dow of  the  coach  to  the  other.  Without  thought,  without 
feeling  of  any  kind,  she  beheld  the  tall,  narrowr  houses 
with  their  wooden  galleries  and  crazy,  outer  staircases; 
the  shuttered  shops,  the  narrow,  lifeless  streets.  As  they 
neared  the  barrier  they  passed  the  first  market  carts,  laden 
with  butter,  milk,  eggs,  cheese,  and  meat.  There  were 
no  green  things  at  this  time  of  year.  And  yet — it  was 
the  first  day  of  March,  the  first  day  of  spring.  The  long 
winter  was  at  an  end.  Summer  would  presently  be  back. 

The  panelled  coach  passed  out  of  the  city  without  dif- 
ficulty, and  entered,  upon  the  country  road.  The  pale 
yellow  light  along  the  end  of  the  distant  horizon  grew 
brighter.  Victorine  regarded  it  dully.  The  coach  jolted 
and  jarred  over  the  frozen  ruts  in  the  road.  Bare-branched 
trees  swayed  in  the  biting  morning  wind.  The  inhabi- 
tants of  the  rude  houses  and  taverns  along  the  way  still 
slept.  The  sweet,  frosty  air  of  very  early  morning  came 
gratefully  to  the  lips  of  the  woman;  but,  as  she  breathed 
it  in,  she  shivered,  and  drew  her  coverings  a  little  closer. 
Presently  they  drew  near  to  Versailles,  and  smoke  began 
to  rise  lazily  from  the  chimneys  of  the  houses  and  to  drift 


Victorine   Makes   End  449 

slowly  upward.  A  few  moments  more,  and  the  cum- 
brous vehicle  stopped  before  a  house  of  stone.  It  was 
Victorine  de  Coigny 's  "home."  A  footman  leaped  from 
the  back  of  the  coach  to  the  ground  and  opened  the  door 
for  her.  With  a  strong  effort  she  alighted,  leaning  heavily 
on  the  servant's  arm. 

At  her  knock  the  concierge,  just  dressed  for  the  day, 
bowed  her  into  the  house,  looking  sharply  the  while  at 
her  pinched,  expressionless  face.  She  did  not  see  him. 
Before  her  were  the  stairs.  By  the  strength  of  her  will 
she  ascended  them,  and  was  presently  admitted  to  the 
apartment  on  the  first  floor.  To  the  slight  surprise  of 
the  waiting  valet,  she  forbade  him  to  call  her  maid;  and 
then,  without  further  commands,  passed  into  her  own 
room.  Here  she  flung  off  her  hood  and  pelisse.  Then, 
with  quiet,  stealthy  steps,  she  crossed  the  passage  into  her 
husband's  room. 

Marshal  Coigny,  weary  with  the  long  night  at  Paris, 
whence  he  had  returned  an  hour  or  two  since,  conscience- 
free,  careless,  from  long  training,  of  his  wife's  whereabouts, 
lay  in  a  sound  sleep,  dreaming  of  her,  perhaps.  He  had 
not  heard  her  return  to  the  house;  and  he  was  perfectly 
unaware  of  her  quiet  entrance  into  his  room. 

She  passed  him  without  a  look,  and  went  straight  to 
the  cabinet  where  he  kept  papers,  orders,  medals,  trophies 
of  the  last  campaign,  his  sword,  and  his  duelling  pistols. 
One  of  these  last,  silver-mounted  weapons,  loaded  for 
possible  use,  Victorine  took,  weighing  it  in  her  hand  a 
second  before  she  began  her  retreat.  She  could  not  leave 
the  room  as  she  had  entered  it,  without  a  glance  at  him 
whose  name  she  had  borne  for  three  years.  For  an  in- 
stant she  paused  beside  his  bed,  looking  a  little  wistfully 
at  the  face  that  was  half  turned  from  her. 

"Jules,"  she  said,  so  softly  that  de  Coigny,  had  he  been 
awake,  could  not  have  heard  her,  "Jules,  1  have  been 
very  wicked,  very  cruel  to  you.  May  God  put  it  into  your 
heart  that  I  tell  you  so — now.  Perhaps,  somewhere,  some 
time,  you  will  find  a  good  woman  who  will  love  you  as  I 
29 


45°        The  House  of  de   Mailly 

did  —  him.  When  that  time  comes,  Jules,  try  to  think  a 
little  kindly  of  me — sometimes." 

Then,  with  a  faint,  tired  sigh,  she  turned  from  him  and 
went  back  into  her  own  room. 

Three  or  four  minutes  later  the  Marquis  de  Coigny  was 
roused  from  his  sleep  by  the  sharp  crack  of  a  pistol-shot. 
Opening  his  eyes  dreamily  for  an  instant,  he  rolled  over 
again,  murmuring,  "Magnificent — your  Majesty  1" 

Then  there  came  the  sounds  of  a  man's  sharp  cry  and 
a  hurrying  of  feet  in  the  passage,  and  the  MarSchal  started 
up  as  a  lackey  rushed  into  his  room. 

"  Nom  de  Dieu,  Ge"rome,  what — " 

"Monsieur  —  monsieur  —  madame  —  madame  la  Mar6- 
chale— " 

"What  is  it?    Speak,  fool!" 

"It  was — madame 's — shot!" 


OR  three  days  it  was  the  supreme  topic  in  the 
(Eil-de-Bceuf,  and  the  Mare'chal  gave  an- 
other day's  interest  by  himself  taking  her 
unconsecrated  body  back  to  the  chateau 
where  she  had  spent  sixteen  of  her  nineteen 
little  years,  for  burial.  No  one  of  the  Court  had  caught 
so  much  as  a  glimpse  of  de  Coigny  before  his  departure; 
but  certain  valets,  news  scavengers  of  Versailles,  spent 
much  time  with  the  Marshal's  servants,  and  learned  from 
them  that  their  master's  hair  was  gray  beneath  his  wig, 
that  he  was  starving  himself,  and  that  none  save  old 
Gerome  could  make  him  speak. 

"1  always  said  that  he  had  the  bad  taste  to  be  in  love 
with  her,"  observed  de  Gevres,  with  a  superior  shrug. 

"  Will  the  abbe  be  called  out,  or  did  the  affair  lie  in  an- 
other direction?" 

Again  the  Duke  shrugged.  "Really,  my  friend,  I 
know  nothing.  The  Mare'chal  has  never  honored  me  with 
domestic  confidences." 

This,  in  substance,  together  with  the  complete  story  of 
her  death,  and  endless  conjectures  as  to  its  immediate 
cause,  was  all  that  was  anywhere  repeated,  in  Bull's-Eye 
or  salon.  Naturally  enough,  then,  people  began  to  grow 
weary  of  the  subject,  and  at  length  little  Victorine,  with  her 
hopeless  tragedy,  was  laid  aside,  to  become  one  of  that 
company  of  ghosts  who,  as  memories,  haunted  the  cor- 
ridors of  the  great  palace,  to  be  recalled  occasionally 
from  oblivion  upon  a  dull  and  rainy  day. 

And  now  another  topic,  one  by  no  means  new,  but  fresh- 


452        The   House  of  de  Mailly 

ened  in  interest,  was  introduced,  by  hints,  to  the  general 
room  from  the  King's  cabinet,  for  the  entertainment  of 
the  scandal-mongers.  This  was  the  de  Maillys  once 
more.  For  many  weeks,  now,  his  Majesty  had  purposely 
suspended  the  long-awaited  choice,  and  had  paid  his  court 
with  equal  gallantry  to  half  a  dozen  women.  After  the 
incident  of  the  "throwing  the  handkerchief/'  a  topic  long 
since  threadbare  in  the  salons,  Mme.  d'Etioles,  bourgeoise 
though  she  was,  seemed  to  stand  a  fair  chance  for  the 
post.  Thereafter,  periodically,  she  had  been  rumored  as 
being  separated  from  her  husband,  of  living  now  at  Paris, 
now  at  S6nart,  again  at  Versailles — perhaps  in  the  palace 
itself.  Nothing  definite  was  known  in  the  (Eil  or  the 
Queen's  circle.  D'Argenson  looked  wise,  and  Bachelier 
blinked  occasionally,  but  the  matter  got  no  further,  and 
nothing  was  proclaimed.  All  this,  however,  was  later, 
through  the  last  of  March  and  the  beginning  of  April. 
Some  time  since,  during  the  first  week  in  March,  indeed, 
the  Cabinet  du  Conseil  learned  something  of  royal  in- 
tentions in  another  quarter.  On  a  certain  Friday  some 
orders  were  given,  a  paper  made  out  at  Majesty's  com- 
mand by  de  Berryer,  and  from  Maurepas  certain  others 
demanded,  the  subject  of  which  made  even  that  imper- 
turbable person  start  with  surprise.  Such  papers  were 
expected  to  be  in  readiness  by  Saturday  afternoon. 

Upon  the  momentous  Friday  young  d'Argenson  and 
Phelippeaux  de  Maurepas  encountered  each  other,  by 
chance,  in  the  vaisselier.  These  two,  who  were  never  to 
be  found  talking  together  in  the  public  rooms,  were  of 
necessity  so  intimate  in  private  that  the  one  could  fairly 
read  the  other's  thoughts  by  the  curve  of  the  lips  or  the 
shape  of  the  brow.  To-day,  both  minds  being  on  the  same 
subject,  both  mouths  formed  into  the  same  peculiar  smile 
of  greeting  as  the  two  found  themselves  alone  in  this  inner 
room.  Maurepas  was  'on  his  way  to  the  grand  gallery. 
D'Argenson,  to  his  great  disgust,  was  at  work  enumerat- 
ing candlesticks  (the  King  being  prone  to  periodic  spells 
of  household  economy).  At  one  end  of  the  table  Maure- 


Deborah  453 

pas  stopped,  looking  down  in  some  amusement  at  his 
comrade's  task. 

"You  would  make  a  woeful  housekeeper,  Marc.  Now 
I — have  been  occupied  in  a  more  engrossing  way." 

"Eh?    Oh,  something  apropos  of  the  little  de  Mailly." 

"  Your  astuteness  is  unsurpassed.  Can  you  guess  the 
next  thing — the  subject  of  my  labors?" 

"I  thought  that  I  had  guessed  it,"  was  the  reply. 

"Oh,  no.     Mme.  de  Mailly  is  their  object." 

"I  am,  then,  at  a  loss." 

"I  have  been  occupied,  my  dear  Count,  in  making  the 
estates  of  Chateauroux,  together  with  the  duchy,  fall, 
by  a  peculiar  line  of  heredity,  from  the  deceased  Duchess 
to  her  living  cousin-german,  Mistress  Deborah  Travis, 
otherwise  the  Comtesse  de  Mailly." 

"  Mordi!  You  have  my  compassion.  My  task  is  as 
nothing  to  yours." 

"Oh,  you  are  wrong.  The  matter  is  nearly  arranged. 
We  shall  see,  my  dear  Count — we  shall  see — " 

"When?" 

"At  no  later  period  than  to-morrow  evening." 

"Ah!     Then  his  Majesty  is  to  escape  from  the  levee?" 

"Yes,  probably.  Monseigneur  the  Dauphin  will  be 
asked  to  take  his  place  after  the  fourth  minuet.  And 
you,  Marc — do  you  know  what  part  in  the  affair  is  to  fall 
to  you?" 

"Alas,  yes — I  can  conjecture  it.  I  had  not  feared  that 
it  would  come  so  soon.  The  husband — Claude — will  be 
my  task." 

"  I  am,  indeed,  sorry  for  it.  Once  before,  you  remember, 
he  fell  to  me.  M on  Dieu !  He  took  it  manfully  enough 
then ;  but  this  is  worse.  Unhappily,  he  is  fond  of  his  wife. " 

"Monsieur  le  Ministre — you  of  the  school  of  Montes- 
quieu— have  you  ever  been  able  to  picture  to  yourself  an 
honest  woman — one  who  would  refuse  the — post?" 

"Never,  Monsieur  of  the  Interior.  In  heaven  there 
may  be  such.  But  then,  in  heaven,  I  am  told,  there  are 
no  kings," 


454         The  House  of  de  Mailly 

With  which  regretfully  sincere  bit  of  pessimism  de 
Maurepas  passed  on,  leaving  his  friend  to  mingle  thoughts 
of  Claude  and  Deborah  and  the  King's  way  with  bronze 
pairs  and  single  silvers. 

Saturday  evening  saw  the  great  Gallery  of  Mirrors  filled 
with  its  customary  brilliant  throng.  Claude  and  his 
wife  were  present  as  a  matter  of  course,  and  were  able  to 
dance  the  second  minuet  together,  since  in  that  their  Majes- 
ties were  companions.  Thereafter  they  were  separated, 
probably  for  the  remainder  of  the  evening.  Deborah  was 
surrounded  by  many  would-be  partners,  for  she  had  long 
since  been  able  to  choose  as  she  liked  from  the  men  of  the 
Court.  But  the  one  who  might  command  a  dance,  he  whom 
she  expected  to  be  seen  with  at  least  once  during  the  even- 
ing, did  not,  apparently,  look  at  her  to-night.  The  Court 
perceived  this  as  quickly  as  she  did ;  and,  in  consequence, 
certain  gentlemen  left  her  side.  Richelieu,  who  dared  not 
approach  her,  smiled  cynically  at  their  want  of  foresight, 
and  saw,  with  a  nod  of  approval,  that  de  Ge"vres,  d'Epernon, 
de  Sauvre"  and  Penthievre  became  more  than  ever  assiduous 
in  their  attentions.  If  Deborah  were  disappointed,  cer- 
tainly none  could  have  guessed  it.  Her  manner  was 
just  as  usual — quiet,  eminently  unaffected,  and  punctilious- 
ly gracious.  It  was  becoming  the  best  manner  in  the 
kingdom,  de  Ge"vres  observed  to  his  neighbor,  d'Epernon, 
as  she  entered  the  King's  set  with  Penthievre.  D'Epernon 
weakly  tapped  his  snuff-box,  but  said  nothing  for  a  time. 

"  De  Bernis  is  across  the  room/'  he  observed,  finally. 

"Yes,  and  there  will  soon  be  thrushes  in  the  bosquet 
of  the  Queen!" 

The  other  smiled  and  shifted  his  position.  "  It  is  more 
apropos  than  you  think.  Observe — there  is  de  Coigny 
returned." 

"  Ah !     True !     He  is  accepting  snuff  from  the  abbe" ! " 

"  We  shall  not  be  seconds  after  all,  then.  Let  us  go  and 
speak  with  Jules." 

"I  cannot  now.     I  wait  here  for  Mme.  de  Mailly." 

"  Au  revoir,  then." 


Deborah  455 

"  Au  revoir.     The  Marshal  looks  well  in  black." 

Thus  the  evening  wore  on  in  customary  fashion,  and, 
as  the  hour  for  supper  approached,  a  little  quiver  of  ex- 
pectation fell  upon  the  hearts  of  certain  people  in  the  great 
room,  who,  so  far  as  an  outsider  could  have  determined, 
were  in  no  way  connected  with  each  other.  D'Argenson 
had  been  missing  during  the  early  part  of  the  evening,  but 
made  his  appearance  at  eleven  o'clock.  De  Berryer  and 
Maurepas,  during  the  ensuing  quarter  of  an  hour,  each 
approached  and  casually  addressed  him.  De  Ge"vres  did 
not  go  near  him,  but  received  a  nod  from  across  the  room 
that  seemed  to  be  satisfactory  to  both.  The  King  himself, 
during  a  promenade,  paused  for  an  instant  on  his  way  to 
whisper  something  that  his  partner  herself  could  not  hear, 
into  the  ear  of  Marc  Antoine.  The  answer  was  simply, 
"  Yes,  Sire,"  but  the  King  moved  on  with  new  gayety  after 
hearing  it. 

Shortly  afterwards  supper  was  announced,  and  the  brill- 
iant company  leisurely  prepared  to  get  them  to  table.  Dur- 
ing the  recessional  from  the  salon  there  were  likewise  three 
or  four  incidents,  which,  put  properly  together,  formed  an 
intricate  little  drama.  Claude,  who  had  just  relinquished 
his  last  partner,  Mme.  de  Grammont,  to  her  new  escort, 
was  looking,  somewhat  half-heartedly,  for  an  unattended 
dame,  when,  to  his  great  satisfaction,  Henri  appeared  be- 
side him  and  held  him  back  for  a  moment  or  two  of  conver- 
sation, it  being  some  days  since  they  had  met.  For  an  in- 
stant the  cousins  eyed  each  other  in  silence.  Then,  as 
they  drew  aside  from  the  doorway,  Claude  observed : 

"  Henri,  you  are  not  well." 

The  Marquis  gave  a  slight,  cynical  smile.  "On  the 
contrary,  dear  Claude,  1  have  now  lost  my  last  excuse  for 
worry,  care,  or  melancholy.  What  more  could  the  gods 
devise  for  me?" 

"Ah!  1  know!"  returned  the  other,  very  gently,  as  he 
laid  one  hand  upon  Henri's  shoulder.  "  You  must  think — 
only — that  she  is  happier  now." 

Henri  quivered  suddenly  and  shook  the  hand  away. 


456        The  House   of  de  Mailly 

"Stop,  Claude.  I — I — no,  not  even  from  you/'  he  ejacu- 
lated, harshly. 

"Forgive  me." 

"Good-evening,  gentlemen." 

Henri  faced  quickly  about  as  Claude  bowed  to  the  man 
who  had  approached  them.  It  was  d'Argenson. 

"  You  look  very  serious,  Monsieur  le  Comte.  What  is  the 
matter?  Do  the  powers  of  Europe  threaten  the  last  treaty, 
or  is  one  of  the  King's  lapdogs  dead?"  inquired  Claude, 
with  his  most  catching  smile,  and  anxious  to  give  Henri  a 
moment  to  change  his  thought. 

D'Argenson's  expression  did  not  brighten.  Rather,  it 
grew  still  more  gloomy.  It  seemed  difficult  for  him  to  an- 
swer the  laughing  question.  At  this  moment,  in  fact,  he 
would  have  preferred  being  in  the  thick  of  Dettingen  to 
standing  here,  where  he  was  about  to  inflict  a  merciless 
blow  on  a  defenceless  head.  "Monsieur  le  Comte,"  he 
began,  looking  steadily  at  Claude,  "  I  wish  you  to  believe 
me  when  1  say  that  never  before,  in  all  my  life,  have  1  so 
regretted  my  duty.  In  speaking  to  you  I  am  obeying 
an  absolute  command.  Monsieur — my  friend — Claude — 1 
have  been  this  evening  to  the  Rue  d'Anjou.  1  left  there 
— a  letter — from  the  King — which  you — " 

He  stopped.  Maurepas  had  told  him  that  this  man 
would  behave  well.  It  was  not  so.  Claude  had  turned 
deathly  white.  Both  hands  had  flown  to  his  head,  and  he 
reeled  where  he  stood.  Henri  sprang  forward  and  caught 
him  about  the  body. 

"Let  me  alone,"  muttered  Claude,  thickly.  "I  sha'n't 
fall." 

"I  will  bring  some  wine,"  said  d'Argenson,  gently. 

"No.  1  will  have  nothing."  For  a  moment  the  three 
stood  motionless  and  silent.  Then  Claude  opened  his  eyes 
and  looked  upon  the  King's  minister.  "The  letter — in- 
vites me — to  travel?" 

D'Argenson  bowed. 

Claude  slowly  drew  a  handkerchief  from  his  pocket  and 
wiped  his  lips  with  it.  "  May  God  damn  to  hell  the  King 


Deborah  457 

of  France !  All  the  armies  in  his  kingdom  shall  not  drive 
me  from  it  till  I've  got  back  my  wife!" 

"Claude!     Claude!     Come  away!"  said  Henri,  sharply. 

"  No.     Not  till  I  have  Deborah  to  go  with  me. " 

"Monsieur — monsieur,  that  is  not  possible,"  whispered 
d'Argenson,  anxiously.  "Mine,  de  Mailly  will  be  granted 
her  choice.  She  will  not  be  in  any  way  forced.  His 
Majesty  will  merely  offer." 

After  he  had  spoken  these  words  d'Argenson  was  not 
sure  that  Claude  had  heard  them.  The  young  man  stood 
for  a  minute  or  two  staring  at  him  stupidly,  with  a  look  of 
heavy  indifference.  Then  his  body  began  to  straighten,  he 
breathed  sharply  two  or  three  times,  and  d'Argenson's  mus- 
cles stiffened  as  he  prepared  to  avoid  an  attack.  Claude's 
hand  opened  and  shut  convulsively,  but  he  made  no  move 
forward.  After  a  long  time,  when  the  tension  had  grown 
almost  past  bearing  to  his  cousin  and  the  minister,  de 
Mailly,  with  a  dignity  that  Louis  himself  could  not  have 
equalled,  said,  measuredly:  "Well,  messieurs,  I  go  home 
to  await  my  wife.  If  her  choice  is  free,  if  she  is  not  forced, 
she  will  return  to  me.  This  is  inevitable.  Henri,  let 
us  go." 

The  Marquis,  with  a  melancholy  glance  at  d'Argenson's 
astonished  face,  grasped  his  cousin's  arm.  Before  they 
went  away,  however,  Claude  turned  once  more  to  the 
Count. 

"  Monsieur,  if  Mme.  de  Mailly  does  remain,  all  the  bolts, 
all  the  bars  and  walls  of  the  Bastille  will  not  be  enough  to 
save  Louis  of  France  from  death  at  my  hands.  Tell  him 
so." 

D'Argenson  bowed  low,  and  Claude,  stumbling  in  his 
walk  like  a  drunken  man,  left  the  room  on  Henri's  arm. 

In  the  mean  time  Deborah  had  not  reached  the  supper- 
room.  De  Gevres  was  her  escort  from  the  Hall  of  Mirrors, 
supposedly  to  the  Salle  du  Grand  Couvert ;  but,  when  they 
stood  upon  the  threshold  of  the  first  corridor,  he  bent  over 
her,  saying,  in  a  low  voice:  "Madame,  the  public  room 
will  be  crowded  and  disagreeable.  In  the  Salle  des  Pen- 


458        The  House   of  de  Mailly 

dules  there  is  to  be  a  little  supper,  to  which  1  am  instructed 
to  invite  you.  Will  you  do  me  the  honor  to  accompany 
me?" 

And  Deborah,  to  whom  these  private  parties  so  frequent- 
ly arranged  for  six  or  eight  in  some  courtier's  suite  were 
far  preferable  to  the  general  feast,  accepted  the  invitation 
with  cordial  good -will.  Thereupon  they  turned  from 
the  procession  and  passed  through  various  courts,  halls, 
and  antechambers  till  they  reached  the  Grande  Galerie. 
Down  the  still,  empty  length  of  this,  into  the  long  corridor 
opening  out  of  it  at  the  other  end,  and  finally  into  the  pas- 
sage of  the  Salle  du  Jeu,  they  walked. 

"It  must  be  a  small  party,  or  are  we  the  first?"  asked 
Deborah,  as  they  entered  the  room  and  paused  before  a 
closed  door. 

De  GeVres  did  not  answer.  Instead,  he  knocked  twice 
upon  the  panel. 

"Enter,"  came  a  voice  from  within. 

The  Duke  pulled  open  the  door,  and  Deborah  passed  be- 
fore him.  The  door  closed  again,  softly,  behind  her.  She 
was  alone  with  the  King. 

" Sire!"  she  cried,  with  a  little  gasp. 

Louis,  who  stood  at  the  end  of  the  room,  his  back  to  the 
fire,  smiled  at  her.  "Oh,  there  are  no  terms  of  etiquette 
to-night.  We  are  only  very  good  friends,  you  and  1,  my 
dear  little  Countess.  Do  you  see?  Now  let  us  sit  down 
together  at  this  little  table,  where  Mouthier  has  prepared  a 
most  delicate  repast;  and  as  we  eat  and  quaff  together 
some  of  the  golden  wine  of  Champagne,  we  will  talk.  Will 
you  not  thus  honor  me,  madame?" 

Deborah,  who  had  grown  very  white  during  the  King's 
speech,  looked  anxiously  about  her. 

"  We  are  utterly  alone.  None  can  hear  us,"  observed  his 
Majesty  again,  with  the  idea  of  being  reassuring.  He  did 
his  companion  unguessed  injustice.  She  had  been  thrown 
into  a  sudden  panic  of  fear. 

"  Pardon,  your  Majesty,  I — 1  do  not  desire  to  eat.  I  am 
not  hungry.  When  M.  de  Ge1  vres  conducted  me  here,  I  did 


Deborah  459 

not  understand  what  he  meant.  If  you  will  grant  me  per- 
mission, I  will  go." 

This  speech  pleased  the  King  incredibly.  Here  at  last 
was  a  woman  who  would  not  fall  at  his  feet,  whom  it  were 
worth  his  while  to  win.  Her  fear  was  certainly  genuine. 
She  was  actually  moving  towards  the  door.  He  did  not  stir 
from  his  place,  wishing  not  to  alarm  her  further. 

"  My  dear  Mme.  de  Mailly,  how  cruel  to  leave  me  quite 
alone !  As  your  sovereign,  I  might  command.  As  a  man, 
however,  I  only  entreat.  Try,  for  me,  one  of  these  ris- 
soles, which  I  myself  assisted  in  making.  Ah!  That  is 
better." 

Deborah,  something  reassured  by  the  quiet  tone  and 
the  apparent  liberty  which  was  hers,  looked  doubtfully 
over  to  the  little  table  whose  glass  and  gold  shone  brightly 
under  the  great  chandelier.  The  King  was  holding  a  chair 
for  her.  Flight  now,  were  there  really  nothing  intended  by 
this  gallantry,  might  be  a  little  awkward  to  explain  next 
day.  After  a  moment's  thought,  Deborah  went  slowly 
over  and  sat  down  at  the  table.  Louis,  with  a  sigh  of 
comfort  and  relief,  placed  himself  beside  her ;  and,  taking 
her  plate,  filled  it  with  portions  from  a  number  of  dishes. 
The  girl  looked  down  at  them  with  a  troubled  expression. 
She  was  thinking  of  Choisy 

"Madame — pledge  me  in  this,"  murmured  the  King, 
filling  her  broad -bowled  glass  with  the  sparkling  wine 
which  she  did  not  very  much  like.  Wetting  her  lips  with 
it,  however,  she  said,  demurely :  " To  your  Majesty." 

"  Oh — that  is  a  cold  toast  indeed.  See,  I  will  do  better. " 
He  lifted  his  glass.  "  I  drink  to  Deborah  de  Mailly,  lady 
of  the  palace  of  the  Queen,  and  beloved  comrade  of  his 
Gracious  Majesty  the  Fifteenth  Louis  of  France.  Eh, 
little  one,  is  it  not  better?" 

"Lady  of  the  palace  of  the  Queen,"  repeated  Deborah, 
slowly,  her  large  eyes  fixed  upon  the  King's  face. 

"Yes,  I  have  said  it.  Your  appointment  is  here,"  he 
replied,  tapping  the  breast  of  his  coat.  "Now  tell  me 
what  else  there  is  in  the  world  that  you  wish  for.  Ah— 


460        The   House   of  de  Mailly 

there  is  something,  I  know.  Estates — money — servants 
— what  will  you  have,  my  little  one?" 

Deborah  shivered  with  cold.  She  realized  the  situation 
now,  and  the  nerves  beneath  her  flesh  were  quivering. 
Pulling  herself  together  with  a  strong  mental  effort,  she 
sat  up,  rigid  and  stiff,  before  her  untouched  food.  Her 
mind  was  quite  clear,  her  path  well  denned. 

"  What  is  it  that  you  want?  I  read  desire  in  your  eyes," 
repeated  the  King,  thinking  to  win  his  suit  more  easily 
than  he  had  at  first  believed. 

"No,  no.  There  is  nothing.  I — thank  your  Majesty 
for  your  kindness.  There  is  nothing  that  1  want.  In- 
deed, indeed,  there  is  nothing." 

"Happiest  of  humankind!  To  want  nothing!  Yet 
there  is  something  that  1  desire.  1,  King  of  France,  am 
not  like  you.  Can  you  guess,  Deborah,  what  it  is  that  I 
long  for  more  than  I  wanted  my  crown?" 

"Another  rissole,  Sire,  I  think." 

He  was  put  out,  and  yet  there  was  a  little  twinkle  in  her 
eyes  that  became  her  wonderfully,  and  seemed,  too,  to  give 
him  hope.  After  an  instant  he  felt  that  anger  was  un- 
necessary, and  thus  recovered  his  ardent  dignity  as  best  he 
could.  "  I  beg  of  you — be  serious.  Since  you  will  name 
for  me  nothing  that  you  wish,  I  will  at  least  tell  you  in 
what  you  are  lacking.  When  you  hear  these  things — 
desire  will  be  born.  Madame — read  this." 

From  his  coat  Louis  took  a  broad  paper,  folded  and 
royally  sealed.  Deborah,  her  face  troubled  and  her  hands 
shaking  slightly,  rose  to  receive  it,  and,  after  a  moment 
of  hesitation,  at  a  most  impatient  nod  from  the  King, 
broke  the  seals,  and  found  the  inside  of  the  document 
covered  with  the  neat,  legible  writing  of  Maurepas.  She 
glanced  quickly  over  its  lines: 

"  The  right  to  confer  titles  of  honor  being  one  of  the  most 
sublime  attributes  of  supreme  power,  the  Kings,  our  pred- 
ecessors, have  left  us  divers  monuments  of  the  use  they 
have  made  of  it  in  favor  of  persons  whose  virtues  and  merits 
they  desired  to  extol  and  make  illustrious.  Considering 


Deborah  461 

that  our  very  dear  and  well-beloved  cousin,  Deborah  Travis, 
wife  of  the  Comte  de  Mailly,  issues  from  one  of  the  greatest 
families  of  a  nation  closely  allied  to  us,  whom  we  delight 
to  honor ;  that  she  is  attached  as  lady  of  the  palace  to  the 
Queen,  our  very  dear  companion;  that  she  is  united  by 
marriage  to  one  of  the  most  ancient  and  illustrious  families 
in  our  realm,  whose  ancestors  have,  for  several  centuries, 
rendered  important  services  to  our  crown;  and  that  she 
joins  to  all  these  advantages  those  virtues  and  qualities 
of  heart  and  mind  which  have  gained  for  her  a  just  and 
universal  consideration,  we  take  the  highest  satisfaction 
in  proclaiming  her  succession  to  the  title  and  estate  of  that 
esteemed  and  honored  lady,  her  cousin,  Marie  Anne  de 
Mailly,  and  we  hereby  invest  her  with  the  Duchy  of  Cha- 
teauroux,  together  with  all  its  appurtenances  and  depend- 
encies, situated  in  Berry."* 

Deborah,  having  finished  the  perusal  of  this  document, 
let  it  float  from  her  fingers  to  the  floor,  while  she  stood 
perfectly  still,  staring  at  the  face  of  the  man  seated  before 
her.  Her  expression,  first  of  amazement,  then  of  horror, 
was  changing  now  to  something  puzzled  and  undecided, 
which  the  King  beheld  with  relief. 

"Madame,"  he  observed,  "you  should  thank  me.  I 
make  you  first  lady  of  the  Court.  I  give  you  title,  wealth, 
power.  I  place  a  Queen  below  you  in  my  own  esteem. 
I  give  you  ministers  to  command,  no  one  to  obey.  I  make 
your  antechamber  a  room  more  frequented  than  my  own 
cabinet.  I  leave  it  for  you,  if  you  wish  it,  to  rule  France. 
And  what  is  it  that  I  ask  in  return?  Nothing!  Nothing 
that  your  own  generosity  will  not  grant  without  the  asking. 
Think  of  what  you  are,  and  of  what  you  will  become. 
Have  you,  then,  no  word  in  which  to  thank  me?" 

He  also  had  risen  now,  and  was  looking  at  her,  as  she 
stood,  with  a  mixture  of  curiosity,  admiration,  and  im- 
patience. 

*This  form  is  taken  from  the  letters-patent  used  in  the  case  of 
Marie  Anne  de  Mailly. 


462        The   House  of  de   Mailly 

Deborah  was  still — so  still  that  she  might  have  been 
taken  for  a  man-made  thing.  And  by  the  expression 
of  her  face  Louis  knew  that  he  must  not  speak  more  now. 
She  was  fighting  her  battle;  his  forces  must  win  or  lose 
as  they  stood,  augmented  no  further.  Before  her  had  risen 
the  picture  of  two  lives,  the  one  that  was  opening  to  her 
and  the  one  that  she  had  thought  to  live.  As  she  thought, 
the  real  life,  for  a  little,  grew  dim,  distant,  unimportant. 
The  other,  with  its  scarce  imaginable  power,  glory,  posi- 
tion, became  clearer  and  still  more  clear  till  she  could  see 
into  its  inmost  depths.  Adulation,  pleasure,  riches,  ease, 
universal  sway,  a  court  at  her  feet,  a  King  to  bar  malice 
from  her  door,  an  existence  of  beauty,  culture,  laugh- 
ter, light,  founded  on — what?  ending — how?  Yes,  these 
questions  came,  inevitably.  To  answer  the  first,  she  looked 
slowly  over  the  man  before  her,  as  he  stood  in  all  the  beauty 
of  his  young  manhood  and  majesty.  Nevertheless,  through 
that  beauty  his  true  nature  was  readable,  showing  plainly 
through  his  eyes,  in  the  expression  of  his  heavy  lower 
lip,  in  his  too  weak  chin  —  that  sullen,  morose,  pettish, 
carnal,  warped  nature,  best  fitted  for  the  peasant's  hut, 
destined  by  Fate,  lover  of  grim  comedy,  for  the  greatest 
palace  of  earth.  This  man,  who  had  no  place  in  her  soul- 
life,  must  build  her  pedestal,  must  place  her  thereon.  And 
the  end  of  all — when  end  should  come — ah !  Now  Deborah 
saw  again  the  bed  of  Marie  Anne  de  Chateauroux,  with 
the  Duchess  upon  it,  as  she  had  lain  there  for  the  last 
time.  And  Marie  Anne  de  Mailly  had  been  Claude's 
cousin — Claude 's — 

"  Mme.  de  Chateauroux,  will  you  examine  to-night  your 
apartments  in  the  little  courts?  Will  you  take  possession 
at—" 

"Oh!— 0  God!— Help  me!" 

"What  are  you  saying!"  uttered  the  King,  sharply. 

Then  she  turned  upon  him  with  that  which  for  the 
moment  she  had  let  lie  dormant  in  her  heart,  now  all  awake 
and  quivering  with  life — her  love  for  Claude.  It  was, 
perhaps,  God,  who  was  helping  as  she  asked. 


Deborah  463 

"I  am  saying  that  1  refuse  to  listen  any  more  to  your 
insults.  1  am  saying  that  1  am  ashamed — utterly  ashamed 
— that  you  should  so  have  thought  of  me  that  you  dare 
offer  them.  1  am  not  Duchess  of  Chateauroux ! "  She 
placed  her  foot  on  the  fallen  paper,  and  stammered  over  the 
French  words  as  she  spoke,  for  she  was  thinking  in  Eng- 
lish now.  "  God  save  me  from  it !  I  am  no  lady  of  the 
palace  of  the  Queen — 1  am  not  of  Versailles,  nor  of  France. 
1  owe  allegiance  to  no  French  King.  I  come  from  a  coun- 
try that  is  true  and  sweet  and  pure,  where  they  hate  and 
despise  your  French  ways,  your  unholy  customs,  your 
laws,  your  manners,  your  dishonoring  of  honest  things, 
your  treatment  of  women.  I  am  honest.  1  hate  myself 
for  having  lived  among  you  for  months  as  I  have  done. 
1  am  going  away,  1  will  leave  here,  this  place,  to-night. 
If  my — my  husband  will  not  take  me — I  shall  go  back 
alone,  by  the  way  1  came,  to  my  country,  where  the  men, 
if  they  are  awkward,  are  upright,  if  the  women  have  not 
etiquette,  they  are  pure. — Let  me  go! — Let  me  go!" 

Louis,  in  a  sudden  access  of  fury,  had  sprung  forward 
and  seized  her  by  the  wrists.  Deborah's  temper  was  fully 
roused  at  last;  her  blood  poured  hotly  through  her  veins. 
Her  life  had  become  a  little  thing  in  comparison  to  the  laws 
for  which  she  was  speaking,  the  sense  of  right  which  seemed 
to  hold  no  part  in  this  French  order  of  things.  Bracing 
herself  as  she  might  in  her  high-heeled  slippers,  she  sud- 
denly threw  all  her  weight  forward  against  the  man,  taking 
him  off  his  guard,  and  so  forcing  him  back  that  he  was 
obliged  to  loosen  his  hold  of  her  in  order  to  regain  equi- 
librium. The  instant  that  she  was  free  Deborah  turned 
and  fled  to  the  door.  She  flung  herself  bodily  against  it. 
It  was  locked  from  the  outside. 

"Good  Heaven!"  muttered  the  girl,  in  English. 

"  What  is  it  you  say,  dear  madame?"  inquired  the  King, 
smiling  in  amused  triumph  as  she  turned  to  him,  still 
grasping  the  handle  of  the  door. 

"  You  are  unfair !  This  is  unlawful !  I  am  not  to  blame  1" 
she  said,  her  voice  quivering. 


464         The  House  of  de   Mailly 

"  Madame — my  dear  Deborah — who  could  be  unfair  with 
you?"  He  came  towards  her,  looking  not  too  well  pleased 
that  she  shrank  back  as  far  as  possible  at  his  approach. 
When  she  was  close  against  the  immovable  door,  and  he  just 
before  her,  he  stopped,  looked  at  her  for  a  long  moment  with 
a  peculiar,  half-patronizing  smile,  then  suddenly  fell  upon 
his  knee  at  her  feet,  and  captured  one  of  her  unwilling  hands. 

"  Deborah — my  Deborah — quel  drole  de  nom! — let  us  now 
forget  locked  doors,  let  us  forget  Majesties  and  riches  and 
favors,  and  let  us  think  only  that  here  am  1,  Louis,  thus 
before  you,  declaring  my  love.  Let  us  make  as  though  we 
were  two  peasants.  I  swear  to  you  that  to  me  you  are  all 
in  all.  Without  you  1  cannot  live.  All  the  days  of  my 
life  1  will  work  for  you,  will  cherish  you.  Now  tell  me  if 
you  will  not  accept  such  love?" 

Deborah  looked  into  the  uplifted  face  of  the  King.  Cer- 
tainly it  was  marvellously  handsome — beautiful  enough  to 
have  turned  the  heads  of  many  women.  Perhaps,  after 
all,  there  was  excuse  for  those  poor  creatures,  the  three 
sisters,  who  had  yielded  to  him.  Perhaps,  after  all,  pity 
was  their  only  just  measure.  But  she — Deborah  Travis 
— had  known  handsome  faces  before.  Indeed,  she  had 
come  near  to  life -long  unhappiness  through  that  which 
she  had  known  best.  Suddenly,  as  in  a  picture,  she  beheld 
there,  beside  the  King,  the  head  of  Charles  Fairneld.  Yes, 
Louis  was  the  finer-featured  of  the  two.  Nevertheless,  all 
temptation  was  gone. 

"Monsieur  le  Roi,"  she  said,  clearly,  and  with  a  kind  of 
cynicism  even  through  her  nervousness,  "  you  are  too  late. 
1  have  been  courted  before,  and  I've  plighted  my  troth  and 
given  my  heart  into  some  one's  keeping.  You  are  too  late. " 

"  Diable !  Dix  milles  diables !"  cried  his  Majesty,  scram- 
bling awkwardly  to  his  feet  and  backing  away  from  her. 
"  Do  you  know  who  1  am? — what  I  can  do,  madame?  Do 
you  know  that,  with  one  word,  I  can  exile  you?  Bah!  Who 
— who — is  the  man  you  prefer  to  me?" 

"  My  husband,"  was  the  demure  reply. 

"Ohl     It  is  an  insult!     Already  your  husband  has  his 


Deborah  465 

commands.     He  leaves  Versailles  to-night,  forever.     Do 
not  be  afraid." 

"Leaves  to-night  I"  A  dark  flush  spread  over  Deborah's 
face.  "  Leaves  to-night !  Mon  Dieu  !  When  —  where  — 
how?  Oh,  I  will  go  now!  You  shall  let  me  go  to  him,  do 
you  hear?  At  once!  Why,  I  shall  be  left  here  alone!  I 
• — 1 — shall  be  like  Mme.  de  Coigny.  Your  Majesty — " 
suddenly  she  grew  calm,  and  her  voice  gently  sweet — 
"  Your  Majesty,  let  me  go." 

"As  3^ou  have  seen,  the  door  is  locked." 

"  Open  it,  then,  or — there  is  another!"  she  pointed  across 
the  room  to  the  door  in  the  opposite  wall  which  led  into  the 
royal  suite. 

The  King  moved  about  quickly,  placing  himself  in  front 
of  it.  The  act  was  sufficient.  It  showed  Deborah  that  she 
had  neither  pity  nor  mercy  to  hope  for,  nothing  but  her  own 
determination  on  which  to  depend.  And,  as  the  knowledge 
of  helplessness  became  more  certain,  so  did  her  will  become 
stronger,  her  brain  more  alert.  She  looked  about  the  room. 
Was  there  a  weapon  of  defence  or  of  attack  anywhere  with- 
in reach?  On  the  supper-table  were  knives  and  forks  of 
gold — dull,  useless  things.  On  one  side  of  the  room  was  a 
great  clock;  on  the  mantel  stood  another.  There  were 
also  stiff  chairs,  tabourets,  an  escritoire,  and  the  table — 
these  were  all.  What  to  do?  She  must  get  home,  get  to 
Claude,  as  rapidly  as  possible.  Would  he  be  there?  Would 
he  have  trusted  and  waited  for  her?  If  not — what?  She 
would  not  think  of  that  now.  She  must  first  escape  through 
that  unlocked  door  guarded  by  the  King.  How  to  do  it? 
Strategy,  perhaps. 

"Well,  madame,  have  you  decided?"  inquired  the  King, 
coolly. 

Deborah  gave  a  slight,  pretty  smile.  "I  have  only  de- 
cided that  I  should  like  to  finish  Mouthier's  comfits.  We 
have  not  even  touched  the  cream,"  she  said,  coquettishly. 

Louis  laughed.  "Ah!  That  is  well,  that!  Let  us  sit 
down." 

Pardonable  vanity,  considering  his  experiences  hereto- 
30 


466         The  House   of  de  Mailly 

fore,  had  thrown  him  easily  off  his  guard.  So  the  two 
seated  themselves  again  at  the  little  table,  Deborah,  for  an 
added  bit  of  flattery,  as  he  thought,  taking  the  chair  which 
he  had  used  before,  and  which  was  nearest  the  door  of 
escape.  The  King  helped  her  bountifully  to  the  smooth 
cream,  which  she  began  upon  with  apparent  avidity. 

"  Louis,"  she  said,  suddenly,  looking  at  him  with  a  sig- 
nificant smile  and  eyes  half  closed,  "pick  up  for  me  the 
paper  that  I  dropped  upon  the  floor.  I — have  not  finished 
reading  it." 

The  King  was  enchanted.  She  was  surrendering  at 
last.  If  she  chose  to  make  it  easier  for  her  vanity  by  treat- 
ing him  like  a  servant — why,  he  was  willing.  He  rose  at 
once  and  went  back  to  the  spot  where  Maurepas'  document 
had  fallen  and  been  spurned  by  Deborah's  heel.  He 
stooped  to  pick  it  up.  There  was  a  crisp  rustle  of  stiff, 
silk  petticoats.  He  looked  up  just  in  time  to  behold  his 
prize  fling  open  the  north  door  and  hurry  through  it  into 
the  room  beyond.  This  was  the  King's  bedroom,  and  in  it, 
at  this  hour,  were  only  Bachelier,  Levet,  and  two  under- 
footmen.  These  four,  in  open-mouthed  amazement,  be- 
held the  flying  figure  of  a  lady  burst  in  from  the  Salle  des 
Pendules,  run  across  the  royal  room,  and  escape  into  the 
council-chamber,  just  as  the  King,  purple  with  anger, 
shouted  from  the  doorway:  "Beasts!  Fools!  Idiots! 
Could  you  not  hold  her?" 

Bachelier  started  up.     "Shall  I  follow,  your  Majesty?" 

"No,  imbecile!  Should  the  King's  valet  be  seen  chas- 
ing a  woman  through  the  corridors  of  Versailles  at  mid- 
night? Ah!  It  is  abominable!" 

Thereupon  his  gracious  Majesty  threw  himself  into  an 
arm-chair  with  an  expression  on  his  royal  countenance 
which  plainly  told  his  valet  that  it  would  be  many  days  ere 
an  unnecessary  word  again  passed  the  master's  lips. 

Once  more,  as  a  year  ago,  Henri  de  Mailly-Nesle  sat  in 
Claude's  bedroom,  on  the  eve  of  that  young  man's  de- 
parture from  Versailles.  But  the  situation  was  differ- 


Deborah  467 

ent  enough  this  time.  Now  it  was  Henri  who,  with  a 
strong  effort,  sat  trying  to  calm  the  feverish  excitement 
and  anxiety  of  the  other.  Upon  the  floor  an  open  coffer 
stood  ready ;  but  nothing  had  yet  been  put  into  it.  Claude 
would  not  admit  a  servant  to  the  room.  He  was  pacing 
rapidly  up  and  down,  up  and  down  the  apartment,  talking 
sometimes  wildly  to  Henri,  sometimes  silent,  sometimes 
muttering  incoherently  to  himself.  His  dress  was  disor- 
dered, his  wig  awry ;  one  slipper  and  his  sword  had  been 
tossed  together  into  a  corner.  He  was  for  the  time  bereft 
of  reason.  It  was  now  half  an  hour  since  the  return  from 
the  palace.  D'Argenson's  letter  had  been  found  awaiting 
them,  but  Claude  had  not  read  it.  What  need  was  there  to 
do  so? 

"Henri,  two  hundred  thousand  is  too  much  for  the  es- 
tate. The  chateau  is  impossible  —  you  are  giving  me 
money.  I'll  not  have  it — " 

"Chut,  child!     Do  you  think—" 

"Ah!  She  has  not  come — she  does  not  come — she 
does  not  come!  1  shall  go  mad.  I  shall  shoot  myself  if 
she  does  not  return!  Mon  Dieul — Mon  Dieul" 

"Claude,  be  calm.  There  is  time.  She  could  not  yet 
have  got  away.  Be  calm.  She  will  come,  of  course." 

Henri  spoke  soothingly,  but,  as  the  minutes  passed,  and 
still  Deborah  delayed,  his  heart  sank.  What  to  do  with 
his  cousin?  Claude  would,  in  a  little  time,  be  actually 
unbalanced,  he  feared. 

"  Henri,  the  chateau  might  be  repaired.  1  should  like 
to  live  in  it  again.  1  should  like  to  be  buried  there.  Ah, 
if  she  is  not  here  in  ten  minutes,  1  shall  use  my  pistol. 
Then  1  will  be  buried  there,  in  the  vault,  beside  Alexandre. 
Poor  Alexandre!  You  remember  —  he  never  knew  her. 
He  knew  what  it  meant  to  lose  his — Deborah! — Deborah! 
— Deborah!  Mon  Dieu,  Henri,  I  have  been  brutal  to  her. 
She  will  not  come  back.  The  time  is  come — the  time  is 
come — 1  will  put  an  end  to  myself!" 

Claude  made  a  quick  dash  for  the  table,  on  which,  amid 
a  pile  of  varied  articles,  were  his  duelling  pistols.  He 


468        The    House    of   de    Mailly 

picked  one  of  them  up.  Henri  sprang  from  his  place  and 
seized  his  cousin  round  the  shoulders. 

"Idiot!— Put  it  down!— Stop!" 

Claude  was  struggling  to  free  himself  from  the  grasp. 
The  strength  of  a  madman  seemed  to  be  in  his  arms. 
Henri  felt  his  hold  weakening.  He  was  being  repulsed. 

"Armand!"  shouted  the  Marquis  hoarsely.  "  Ar- 
mand! Amoi!  Ausecours!  Monsieur  le  Cotnte — " 

"Mordi!  you  shall  not!"  growled  Claude,  furiously. 
"1  tell  you  she  is  not  corning!  1  will  kill  myself!  Let 
me — let  me  go!" 

With  a  mighty  wrench  Claude  pulled  himself  free,  over- 
balancing his  cousin,  who  fell  heavily  to  the  floor.  Claude 
had  the  pistol  in  his  hand.  The  valet  had  not  appeared. 
For  just  the  shade  of  an  instant  de  Mailly  hesitated. 

"Claude!"  came  a  tremulous,  quivering  voice  from  the 
doorway. 

The  weapon  clattered  to  the  floor.  Claude  held  out  both 
arms,  and  Deborah,  dazed,  weary,  utterly  happy,  went  into 
them  and  was  clasped  close  to  his  heart. 

"Claude — we  must  go  away,"  she  whispered,  her  lips 
close  to  his  ear. 

"We  will  go/' 

"  Where— where— Claude?" 

"1  have  no  longer  a  country,  my  wife.  But  1  know 
that  which  is  there  for  us  over  the  sea — that  wherein  1 
found  you  first." 

Deborah  gave  a  little  sob  of  relief;  and,  as  her  lips  met 
those  of  her  husband,  Henri  de  Mailly,  who  had  kept  him 
for  her,  sharply  turned  away. 


EPILOGUE 

A  Trail  on  the  Water 

ND  thus  at  last  we  come  down  to  the  sea — black, 
murmurous  waste — rolling  vastly  under  the 
evening  sky,  and  against  the  far  golden  hori- 
zon. In  this  swift  approaching  night  all  that 
has  been,  all  the  base  dishonesty,  the  foul- 
ness, the  little- visible  much-felt,  shall  be  washed  away,  for 
it  is  the  world  that  was.  When  the  dripping  sun  flashes 
up  again  out  of  the  east,  'twill  be  to  send  a  shower  of  golden 
beams  down  the  wind  that  is  bearing  a  white-winged  bark 
westward  over  the  blue  expanse.  What  two  souls  this  ves- 
sel bears,  whence — from  what  darkness  of  the  Old — whith- 
er— to  what  brightness  of  the  New — need  scarce  be  told. 
The  trial  of  their  faith  and  love  is  over.  Obedient  to  the 
victory  call,  out  of  the  depths  that  have  so  long  surround- 
ed them,  the  future,  star-crowned,  rises  up  at  last. 


THE   END 


BY  H.  B.  MARRIOTT  WATSON 


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writings  have  given  of  the  stability  of  his  capacity  for  fine  roman- 
tic fiction.  He  gives  every  indication  that  he  is  in  the  plenitude 
of  his  powers  and  graces  as  a  constructionist  and  narrator. — 
Washington  Times. 

THE   GRAY  MAN.     A  Novel.     Illustrated  by  SEY- 
MOUR LUCAS,  R.A. 

A  strong  book,  .  .  .  masterly  in  its  portrayals  of  character  and 
historic  events. — Boston  Congregationalist. 

Post  8vo,  Cloth,  Ornamental,  $1  50  per  volume. 


HARPER   &   BROTHERS,  PUBLISHERS 

NEW    YORK    AND    LONDON 


of  the  above  works  will  be  sent  by  mail,  postage  prepaid, 
to  any  part  of  the  United  States,  Canada,  or  Mexico,  on  receipt  of 
the  price. 


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